The Pteam and the Goblet of Fire
by KibaLover2211
Summary: The fourth installment of my version of the Harry Potter book series. Thank you so much to those of you who've been following the story so far, I'm really grateful. More adventures with Harry Potter and his best friend, Cheyenne Power. Come in and find out how things go for this duo during their fourth year at Hogwarts. New challenges and adventures await, but can they survive?
1. The Riddle House

**AN: All right, fourth book in the Harry Potter series, yay! I've really been enjoying writing this story and getting feed back on it from others on this site and I'd like to thank my followers once again for staying with the story so far. And I know I normally keep the story in my character, Cheyenne Power's, P.O.V., but I know the first chapter of the Goblet of Fire would be hard to do that with, so I just put it as a third person chapter. I'll be doing this with chapters where neither Cheyenne Power nor Harry Potter are present, especially if that chapter is important to the storyline.**

**Disclaimer: I do ****NOT**** own Harry Potter or any of the characters or plot. They all belong to J.K. Rowling and the Scholastic Press. **

**No one's P.O.V.**

**Chapter One**

**The Riddle House**

The villagers of Little Hangleton still called it "the Riddle House," even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there. It stood on a hill overlooking the village, some of its windows boarded, tiles missing from its roof, and ivy spreading unchecked over its face. Once a fine-looking manor, and easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the Riddle House was now damp, derelict, and unoccupied.

The little Hangletons all agreed that the old house was "creepy." Half a century ago, something strange and horrible had happened there, something that the older inhabitants of the village still liked to discuss when topics for gossip were scarce. The story had been picked over so many times, and had been embroidered in so many places, that nobody was quite sure what the truth was anymore. Every version of the tale, however, started in the same place: Fifty years before, at daybreak on a fine summer's morning, when the Riddle House had still been well kept and impressive, a maid had entered the drawing room to find all three Riddles dead.

The maid had run screaming down the hill into the village and roused as many people as she could.

"Lying there with their eyes wide open! Cold as ice! Still in their dinner things!"

The police were summoned, and the whole of Little Hangleton had seethed with shocked curiousity and ill-disguised excitement. Nobody wasted their breath pretending to feel very sad about the Riddles, for they had been most unpopular. Elderly Mr. and Mrs. Riddle had been rich, snobbish, and rude, and their grown-up son, Tom, had been, if anything, worse. All the villagers cared about was the identity of their murderer - for plainly, three apparently healthy people did not all drop dead of natural causes on the same night.

The Hanged Man, the village pub, did a roaring trade that night; the whole village seemed to have turned out to discuss the murders. They were rewarded for leaving their firesides when the Riddles' cook arrived dramatically in their midst and announced to the suddenly silent pub that a man called Frank Bryce had just been arrested.

"Frank!" called several people. "Never!"

Frank Bryce was the Riddles' gardener. He lived alone in a rundown cottage on the grounds of the Riddle House. Frank had come back from the war with a very stiff leg and a great dislike of crowds and loud noises, and had been working for the Riddles ever since.

There was a rush to buy the cook drinks and hear more details.

"Always though he was odd," she told the eagerly listening villagers, after her fourth sherry. "Unfriendly, like. I'm sure if I've offered him a cuppa once, I've offered it a hundred times. Never wanted to mix, he didn't."

"Ah, now," a woman at the bar said, "he had a hard war, Frank. He likes the quiet life. There's no reason to -"

"Who else had a key to the back door, then?" the cook barked. "There's been a spare key hanging in the gardener's cottage far back as I can remember! Nobody forced the door last night! No broken windows! All Frank had to do was creep up to the big house while we were all sleeping..."

The villagers exchanged dark looks.

"I always though he had a nasty look about him, right enough," a man grunted at the bar.

"War turned him funny, if you ask me," the landlord said.

"Told you I wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of Frank, didn't I, Dot?" an excited woman said from the corner.

"Horrible temper," Dot said, nodding fervently. "I remember when he was a kid..."

By the following morning, hardly anyone in Little Hangleton doubted that Frank Bryce had killed the Riddles.

But over in the neightboring town of Great Hangleton in the dark and dingy police station, Frank was stubbornly repeating, again and again, that he was innocent, and that the only person he had seen near the house on the day of the Riddle's deaths had been a teenage boy, a stranger, dark-haired and pale. Nobody else in the village had seen any such boy, and the police were quite sure that Frank had invented him.

Then, just when things were looking very serious for Frank, the report on the Riddles' bodies came back and changed everything.

The police had never read an odder report. A team of doctors had examined the bodies and had concluded that none of the Riddles had been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangled, suffocated, or (as far as they could tell) harmed at all. In fact (the report continued, in a tone of unmistakable bewilderment), the Riddles all appeared to be in perfect health - apart from the fact that they were all dead. The doctors did note (as though determined to find something wrong with the bodies) that each of the Riddles had a look of terror upon his or her face - but as the frustrated police said, whoever heard of three people being _frightened_ to death?

As there was no proof that the Riddles had been murdered at all, the police were forced to let Frank go. The Riddles were buried in the Little Hangleton churchyard, and their graves remained objects of curiousity for a while. To everyone's surprise, and amid a cloud of suspicion, Frank Bryce returned to his cottage on the grounds of the Riddle House.

" 'S far as I'm concerned, he killed them, and I don't care what the police say," Dot said in the Hanged Man. "And if he had any decency, he'd leave here, knowing as how we knows he did it."

But Frank did not leave. He stayed to tend the garden for the next family who lived in the Riddle House, and then the next - for neither family stayed long. Perhaps it was partly because of Frank that the new owners said there was a nasty feeling about the place, which, in the absence of inhabitants, started to fall into disrepair.

The wealthy man who owned the Riddle House these days neither lived there nor put it to any use; they said in the village that he kept it for "tax reasons," though nobody was very clear what these might be. The wealthy owner continued to pay Frank to do the gardening, however. Frank was nearing his seventy-seventh birthday now, very deaf, his bad leg stiffer than ever but could be seen pottering around the flower beds in the fine weather, even though the weeds were starting to creep up on him, try as he might to suppress them.

Weeds were not the only things Frank had to contend with either. Boys from the village made a habit of throwing stones through the windows of the Riddle House. They rode their bicycles over the lawns Frank worked so hard to keep smooth. Once or twice, they broke into the old house for a dare. They knew that old Frank's devotion to the house and grounds amounted almost to an obsession, and it amused them to see him limping across the garden, brandishing his stick and yelling croakily at them. Frank, for his part, believed the boys torrmented him because they, like their parents and grandparents, thought him a murderer. So when Frank awoke one night in August and saw something very odd up at the old house, he merely assumed that the boys had gone one step further in their attempts to punish him.

It was Frank's bad leg that woke him; it was paining him worse than ever in his old age. He got up and limped downstairs into the kitchen with the idea of refilling his hot-water bottle to ease the stiffness in his knee. Standing at the sink, filling the kettle, he looked up at the Riddle House and saw lights glimmering in its upper windows. Frank knew at once what was going on. The boys had broken into the house again, and judging by the flicking light, they had started a fire.

Frank had no telephone, and in any case, he had deeply mistrusted the police ever since they had taken him in for questioning about the Riddles' deaths. He put down the kettle at once, hurried back upstairs as fast as his bad leg would allow, and was soon back in his kitchen, fully dressed and removing a rusty old key from its hook by the door. He picked up his walking stick, which was propped against the wall, and set off into the night.

The front door of the Riddle House bore no sign of being forced, nor did any of the windows. Frank limped around to the back of the house until he reached a door almost completely hidden by ivy, took out the old key, put it into the lock, and opened the door noiselessly.

He let himself into the cavernous kitchen. Frank had not entered it for many years; nevertheless, although it was very dark, he remembered where the door into the hall was, and he groped his way toward it, his nostrils full of the smell of decay, ears pricked for any sound of footsteps or voices form overhead. He reached the hall, which was a little lighter owing to the large mullioned windows on either side of the front door, and started to climb the stairs, blessing the dust that lay thick upon the stone, because it muffled the sound of his feet and stick.

On the landing, Frank turned right, and saw at once where the intruders were: At the very end of the passage a door stood ajar, and a flickering light shone through the gap, casting a long sliver of gold across the black floor. Frank edge closer and closer, grasping his walking stick firmly. Several feet from the entrance, he was able to see a narrow slice of the room beyond.

The fire, he now saw, had been lit in the grate. This surprised him. Then he stopped moving and listened intently, for a man's voice spoke within the room; it soudned timid and fearful.

"There is a little more in the bottle, My Lord, if you are still hungry."

"Later," a second voice said. This too belonged to a man - but it was strangely high-pitched, and cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. Something about that voice made the sparse hairs on the back of Frank's neck stand up. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail."

Frank turned his right ear toward the door, the better to hear. There came the clink of a bottle being put down upon some hard surface, and then the dull scraping noise of a heavy chair being dragged across the floor. Frank caught a glimpse of a small man, his back to the door, pushing the chair into place. He was wearing a long black cloak, and there was a bald patch at the back of his head. Then he went out of sight again.

"Where is Nagini?" asked the cold voice.

"I - I don't know, My Lord," the first voice said nervously. "She set out to explore the house, I think..."

"You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail," the second voice said. "I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly."

Brow furrowed, Frank inclined his good ear still closer to the door, listening very hard. There was a pause, and then the man called Wormtail spoke again.

"My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?"

"A week," the cold voice said. "Perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over."

Frank inserted a gnarled finger into his ear and rotated it. Owing, no doubt, to a buildup of earwax, he had heard the word "Quidditch," which was not a word at all.

"The - The Quidditch World Cup, My Lord?" Wormtail said. (Frank dug his finger still more vigorously into his ear.) Forgive me, but - I do not understand - why should we wait until the World Cup is over?"

"Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait."

Frank stopped trying to clear out his ear. He had distinctly heard the words "Ministry of Magic," "wizards," and "Muggles." Plainly, each of these expressions meant something secret, and Frank could think of only two sorts of people who would speak in code: spies and criminals. Frank tightened his hold on his walking stick once more, and listened more closely still.

"Your Lordship is still determined, then?" Wormtail said quietly.

"Certainly I am determined, Wormtail." There was a note of menace in the cold voice now.

A slight pause followed - and then Wormtail spoke, the words tumbling from him in a rush, as though he was forcing himself to say this before he lost his nerve.

"It could be done without Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, My Lord."

Another pause, more protracted, and then -

"Without Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power?" breathed the second voice softly. "I see..."

"My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the couple!" Wormtail said, his voice rising squeakily. "Neither of them mean anything to me, neither of them! It is merely that if we were to use another couple of witches or wizards - any witches or wizards - the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while - you know that I can disguise myself more effectively - I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person -"

"I could use another wizard and witch," the cold voice said softly, "that is true..."

"My Lord, it makes sense," Wormtail said, sounding thoroughly relieved now. "Laying hands on either Harry Potter or Cheyenne Power would be so difficult, they are both so well protected -"

"And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder...perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan for nothing more than an attempt to desert me?"

"My Lord! I - I have no wish to leave you, none at all -"

"Do not lie to me!" the second voice hissed. "I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel your shudder when you touch me..."

"No! My devotion to Your Lordship -"

"Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?"

"But you seem so much stronger, My Lord -"

"Liar," the second voice breathed. "I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be enough to rob me of the little health I have regained under your clumsy care. _Silence!"_

Wormtail, who had been sputtering incoherently, fell silent at once. For a few seconds, Frank could hear nothing but the fire crackling. Then the second man spoke once more, in a whisper that was almost a hiss.

"I have my reasons for using those two, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no others. I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. As for the protection surrounding those two, I believe my plan will be effective. All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail - courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldemort's wrath -"

"My Lord, I must speak!" Wormtail said, panic in his voice now. "All through our journey I have gone over the plan in my head - My Lord, Bertha Jorkin's disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I murder -"

"If?" the second voice whispered. _"If_? If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else has died. You will do it quietly and without fuss; I only wish that I could do it myself, but in my present condition...Come, Wormtail, one more death and our path to Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my _faithful_ servant will have rejoined us -"

"_I_ am a faithful servant," Wormtail said, the merest trace of sullenness in his voice.

"Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfilled neither requirement."

"I found you," Wormtail said, and there was definitely a sulky edge to his voice now. "I was the one who found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins."

"That is true," the second man said, sounding amused. "A stroke of brilliance I would not have thought possible from you, Wormtail - though, if truth be told, you were not aware how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?"

"I - I thought she might be useful, My Lord -"

"Liar," the second voice said again, the cruel amusement more pronounced than ever. "However, I do not deny that her information was invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan, and for that, you will have your reward, Wormtail. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform..."

"R-really, My Lord? What -?" Wormtail sounded terrified again.

"Ah, Wormtail, you don't want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end...but I promise you, you will have the honor of being just as useful as Bertha Jorkins."

"You...you..." Wormtail's voice suddenly sounded hoarse, as though his mouth had gone very dry. "You...are going...to kill me too?"

"Wormtail, Wormtail," the cold voice said silkily, "why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for nothing after my questioning, quite useless. In any case, awkward questions would have been asked if she had gone back to the Ministry with the news that she had met you on her holidays. Wizards who are supposed to be dead would do well not to run into Ministry of Magic witches at wayside inns..."

Wormtail muttered something so quietly that Frank could not hear it, but it made the second man laugh - an entirely mirthless laugh, cold as his speech.

_"We could have modified her memory?_ But Memory Charms can be broken by a powerful wizard, as I proved when I questioned her. It would be an insult to her _memory_ not to use the information I extracted from her, Wormtail."

Out in the corridor, Frank suddenly became aware that the hand gripping his walking stick was slippery with sweat. The man with the cold voice had killed a woman. He was talking about it without any kind of remorse - with _amusement_. He was dangerous - a madman. And he was planning more murders - that couple, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, whoever they were - were in danger -

Frank knew what he must do. Now, if ever, was the time to go to the police. He would creep out of the house and head straight for the telephone box in the village...but the cold voice was speaking again, and Frank remained where he was, frozen to the spot, listening with all his might.

"One more murder...my faithful servant at Hogwarts...Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power are as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet...I think I hear Nagini..."

And the second man's voice changed. He started making noises such as Frank had never heard before; he was hissing and spitting without drawing breath. Frank thought he must be having some sort of fit or seizure.

And then Frank heard movement behind him in the dark passageway. He turned to look, and found himself paralyzed with fright.

Something was slithering toward him along the dark corridor floor, and as it drew nearer to the sliver of firelight, he realized with a thrill of terror that it was a gigantic snake, at least twelve feet long. Horrified, transfixed, Frank stared as its undulating body cut a wide, curving track through the thick dust on the floor, coming closer and closer - What was he to do? The only means of escape was into the room where two men sat plotting murder, yet if he stayed where he was the snake would surely kill him -

But before he had made his decision, the snake was level with him, and then, incredibly, miraculously, it was passing; it was following the spitting, hissing noises made by the cold voice beyond the door, and in seconds, the tip of its diamond-patterned tail had vanished through the gap.

There was sweat on Frank's forehead now, and the hand on the walking stick was trembling. Inside the room, the cold voice was continuing to hiss, and Frank was visited by a strange idea, an impossible idea..._This man could talk to snakes._

Frank didn't understand what was going on. He wanted more than anything to be back in his bed with his hot-water bottle. The problem was that his legs didn't seem to want to move. As he stood there shaking and trying to master himself, the cold voice switched abruptly to English again.

"Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail," it said.

"In-indeed, My Lord?" Wormtail asked.

"Indeed, yes," the voice said. "According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we saw.

Frank didn't have a chance to hide himself. There were footsteps, and then the door of the room was flung wide open.

A short, balding man with graying hair, a pointed nose, and small, watery eyes stood before Frank, a mixture of fear and alarm on his face.

"Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?"

The cold voice was coming from the ancient armchair before the fire, but Frank couldn't see the speaker. The snake, on the other hand, was curled up on the rotting hearth rug, like some horrible travesty of a pet dog.

Wormtail beckoned Frank into the room. Though still deeply shaken, Frank took a firmer grip upon his walking stick and limped over the threshold.

The fire was the only source of light in the room; it cast long, spidery shadows upon the walls. Frank stared at the back of the armchair; the man inside it seem to be even smaller than his servant, for Frank couldn't even see the back of his head.

"You heard everything, Muggle?" the cold voice asked.

"What's that you're calling me?" Frank asked defiantly, for now that he was inside the room, now that the time had come for some sort of action, he felt braver; it had always been so in the war.

"I am calling you a Muggle," the voice said coolly. "It means that you are not a wizard."

"I don't know what you mean by wizard," Frank said, his voice growing steadier. "All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You've done murder and you're planning more! And I'll tell you this too," he added, on a sudden inspiration, "my wife knows I'm up here, and if I don't come back -"

"You have no wife," the cold voice said, very quietly. "Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows...he always knows..."

"Is that right?" Frank said roughly. "Lord, is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, _My Lord._ Turn 'round and face me like a man, why don't you?"

"But I am not a man, Muggle," the cold voice said, barely audible now over the crackling of the flames. "I am much, much more than a man. However...why not? I will face you...Wormtail, come turn my chair around."

The servant gave a whimper.

"You heard me, Wormtail."

Slowly, with his face screwed up, as though he would rather have done anything than approach his master and the hearth rug where the snake lay, the small man walked forward and began to turn the chair. The snake lifted its ugly triangular head and hissed slightly as the legs of the chair snagged on its rug.

And then the chair was facing Frank, and he saw what was sitting in it. His walking stick fell to the floor with a clatter. He opened his mouth and let out a scream. He was screaming so loudly that he never heard the words the thing in the chair spoke as it raised a wand. There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and Frank Bryce crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Two hundred miles away, the two called Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power each woke with a start.


	2. The Scars

**Cheyenne Power's P.O.V.**

**Chapter Two**

**The Scars**

I jerked upright in bed, breathing hard as though I'd been running. I'd just woken from a vivid dream with my hands pressed over my face. The old scar on my forehead, which was shaped like a bolt of lightning, was burning beneath my fingers as though someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to my skin.

I groaned softly, one hand still on my scar, the other reaching out in the darkness for my glasses, which were on the bedside table. I pulled them on and my shared bedroom came into clearer focus, lit by a faint, misty orange light that was flitering through the curtains from the street lamp outside the window.

I ran my fingers over the scar again. It was still painful. There was a soft click and the room was filled with a bright, white light from the lamp on the other bedside table, and I watched my best friend, Harry Potter, scramble out of bed, cross the room and open our wardrobe. He began peering into the mirror on the inside of the door, where his reflection stared back; a skinny boy of fourteen, with bright green eyes peering out quizzically from under his untidy black hair. I watched as he examined the lightning-bolt scar of his reflection more closely. His looked normal, but it looked like it still stung.

Sighing to myself, I swung my legs over the edge of my bed and leaned my elbows on my knees as I leaned my face in my hands, knowing my scar was probably looking normal too, even if it did sting like never before. Like my best friend, I was rather skinny for a fourteen-year-old girl, but what I lacked in weight, I made up for in height, as I was still roughly a half foot over Harry now, but he was still gaining on me, inch by inch, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he overtook me in height. Moving one hand off my face, I brushed the wavy/curly dark brown hair from my hazel brown eyes and sat up straighter, watching Harry to see what he was going to do now.

I tried to recall what I had been dreaming about before I had awoken. It had seemed so real...There had been two people I knew and one I didn't...I concentrated hard, frowning, trying to remember...

The dim picture of a darkened room came to me...There had been a snake on a hearth rug...a small man called Peter, nicknamed Wormtail...and a cold, high voice...the voice of Lord Voldemort. I felt as though an ice cube had slipped down into my stomach at the very thought...

I closed my eyes tightly for a moment, then opened them half way, trying to remember what Voldemort had looked like, but it was impossible...All I knew was that at the moment when Voldemort's chair had swung around, and I, Cheyenne, had seen what was sitting in it, I had felt a spasm of horror, which had awoken me...or had that been the pain in my scar?

And who had the old man been? For there had definitely been an old man; I had watched him fall to the ground. It was all becoming confusing. I put my face into my hands again, blocking out my bedroom and Harry, trying to hold on to the picutre of that dimly lit room, but it was like trying to keep water in my cupped hands; the details were now trickling away as fast as I tried to hold on to them...Voldemort and Wormtail had been talking about someone they had killed, though I could not remember the name...and they had been plotting to kill someone else...two someone elses..._me and Harry!_

I lifted my face from my hands, opened my eyes, and stared around my bedroom as though expecting to see something unusual there. As it happened, there were an extraordinary number of unusual things in this room. A couple of large wooden trunks stood open at the foot of my and Harry's beds, each revealing a cauldron, broomstick, black robes, and assorted spellbooks. Rolls of parchment littered that part of our desk that was not taken up by the large, empty cages in which our snowy and raven black owls, Hedwig and Elon, usually perched. On the floor beside Harry's bed a book lay open; Harry had been reading it before he fell asleep last night. The pictures in this book were all moving. Men in bright orange robes were zooming in and out of sight on broomsticks, throwing a red ball to one another.

I slid off my bed and crawled over to the book, which I held in my hands as I stood. I felt Harry step up behind me and we watched one of the wizards score a spectacular goal by putting the ball through a fifty-foot-high hoop. Then he put his hands over mine and we snapped the book shut together. Even Quidditch - in my and Harry's opinion, the best sport in the world - couldn't distract us at the moment. Harry gently took _Flying with the Cannons_ from me and placed it on his bedside table while I crossed to the window, and drew bck the curtains to survey the street below. Harry wasn't too far behind and I felt him wrap an arm around my waist, lean his chin on my shoulder. I leaned back into his chest and we watched the streets below.

Privet Drive looked exactly as a respectable suburban street would be expected to look in the early hours of Saturday morning. All the curtains were closed. As far as Harry and I could see through the darkness, there wasn't a living creature in sight, not even a cat.

And yet...and yet...I felt Harry release me and go restlessly back to his bed. I looked over my shoulder at him, seeing him running a finger over his scar again. I slowly approached him and crawled onto the bed next to him, leaning my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes again. I knew it wasn't the pain that bothered him since the pain in my scar didn't bother me too much either; neither Harry nor I were strangers to pain and injury. He had lost all the bones from his right arm once and had them painfully regrown in a night; that same day, I'd taken a blow to the head from a one hundred and fourty-nine pound ball that knocked me out for hours on end. Harry's same arm had been pierced by a venomous foot-long fang not long afterward. Only last year both Harry and I had fallen fifty feet each from an airborne broomstick. We were both used to bizarre accidents and injuries; they were unavoidable if you attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and had a knack for attracting a lot of trouble.

No, I knew the thing that was bothering Harry was the fact that last time either of our scars hurt, it had been because Voldemort had been close by...But Voldemort couldn't be here, now...The idea of Voldemort lurking on Privet Drive was absurd, impossible...

Harry and I listened closely to the silence around us. Were we half-expecting to hear the creak of a stair or the swish of a cloak? And then we jumped slightly as we heard our cousin Dudley give a tremendour grunting snore from the next room.

Harry and I glanced at each other, shaking ourselves mentally; we were being stupid. There was no one in the house with us except Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley, and they were plainly still asleep, theire dreams untroubled and painless.

Asleep was the way both Harry and I liked the Dursleys best; it wasn't as though they were ever any help to us awake. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were my and Harry's only living relatives (even if they were not my blood relatives, thankfully). They were Muggles who hated and despised magic in any form, which meant that Harry and I were about as welcome in their house as dry rot. They had explained away my and Harry's long absences at Hogwarts over the last three years by telling everyone that we went to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Young Adults. They knew perfectly well that, as an underage witch and wizard, neither Harry nor I were allowed to use magic outside Hogwarts, but they were still apt to blame us for anything that went wrong about the house. Neither Harry nor I had ever been able to confide in them or tell them anything about our lives in the wizarding world. The very idea of going to them when they awoke, and telling them about our scars hurting us, and about our worried about Voldemort, was laughable.

And yet it was because of Voldemort that Harry and I had come to live with the Dursleys in the first place. If it hadn't been for Voldemort, neither Harry nor I would have the lightning scars on our foreheads. If it hadn't been for Voldemort, Harry and I would both still have our parents...

Both Harry and I had been a year old the night that Voldemort - the most powerful Dark wizard for a century, a wizard who had been gaining power steadily for eleven years - arrived at our house and killed both our fathers and mothers. Voldemort had then turned his wand on Harry and I; he had performed the curse that had disposed of many full-grown witches and wizards in his steady rise to power - and, incredibly, it had not worked. Instead of killing the little boy and girl, the curse had rebounded upon Voldemort. Harry and I had survived with nothing but a couple of lightning-shaped cuts on our foreheads, and Voldemort had been reduced to something barely alive. His powers gone, his life almost extinguished, Voldemort had fled; the terror in which the secret community of witches and wizards had lived for so long had lifted, Voldemort's followers had disbanded, and Harry Potter and I, Cheyenne Power, had become famous.

It had been enough of a shock for Harry and I to discover, on his eleventh birthday, that we were a witch and a wizard; it had been even more disconcerting to find out that everyone in the hidden wizarding world knew both our names. Harry and I had arrived at Hogwarts to find that heads turned and whispers followed us wherever we went. But we were used to it now: At the end of this summer, we would be starting our fourth year at Hogwarts, and Harry and I were already counting the days until we would be back at the castle again.

But there was still a fortnight to go before we went back to school. We looked hopelessly around our room again, and our eyes paused on the birthday cards our two best friends had sent him at the end of July. What would they say if Harry and I wrote to them and told them about our scars hurting?

At once, Hermione Granger's voice seemed to fill our heads, shrill and panicky.

_Your scars hurt? Harry, Chey, that's really serious...Write to Professor Dumbledore! And I'll go and check _Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions..._Maybe there's something in there about curse scars..."_

Yes, that would be Hermione's advice: Go straight to the headmaster of Hogwarts, and in the meantime, consult a book. Harry and I stared out of the window at the inky blue-black sky. We doubted very much whether a book could help us now. As far as we knew, we were the only living people to have survived a curse like Voldemort's; it was highly unlikely, therefore, that we would find our symptoms listed in _Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions_. As for informing the headmaster, neither Harry nor I had any idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. We amused ourselves for a moment, talking about Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, full-length wizard's robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose. Wherever Dumbledore was, though, Harry and I were sure that Hedwig or Elon would be able to find him; my and Harry's owls had never yet failed to deliver a letter to anyone, even without an address. But what would we write?

_Dear Professor Dumbledore, Sorry to bother you, but our scars hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power._

Even just staying it to each other, the words sounded stupid.

Ad so we tried to imagine our other best friend, Ron Weasley's, reaction, and in a moment, Ron's red hair and long-nosed, freckled face seemed to swim before Harry and I, wearing a bemused expression.

_"Your scars hurt? But, but You-Know-Who can't be near you now, can he? I mean...you'd know, wouldn't you? He'd be trying to do you both in again, wouldn't he? I dunno, Harry, Chey, maybe curse scars always twinge a bit...I'll ask Dad..."_

Mr. Weasley was a fully qualified wizard who worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, but he didn't have any particular expertise in the matter of curses, as far as either Harry or I knew. In any case, Harry and I didn't like the idea of the whole Weasley family knowing that we, Harry and Cheyenne, were getting jumpy about a few moments' pain. Mrs. Weasley would fuss worse than Hermione, and Fred and George, Ron's sixteen-year-old twin brothers, might think we were losing our nerves, but then again, Fred might be more concerened, especially for me. The Weasleys were my and Harry's favorite family in the world; we were hoping that they might invite us to stay any time now (Ron had mentioned something about the Quidditch World Cup), and we somehow didn't want our visit punctuated with anxious inquiries about our scars.

I watched as Harry kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. What we both really wanted (and it felt almost shameful to admit it to ourselves) was someone like - someone like a _parent_: an adult wizard whose advice we could ask without feeling stupid, someone who cared about us, who had had experience with Dark Magic...

And then the solution came to us. It was so simple, and so obvious, that we couldn't believe it had taken so long - _Sirius_.

Harry and I leapt up from the bed, hurried across the room, and he sat down at his desk and I looked over his shoulder as he pulled a piece of parchment toward us. Loading his eagle-feather quill with ink, he wrote _Dear Sirius,_ then paused, wondering how best to phrase our problem, still marveling at the fact that we hadn't thought of Sirius straight away. But then perhaps it wasn't so surprising - after all, we had only found out that Sirius was our godfather two months ago.

There was a simple reason for Sirius's complete absence from my and Harry's lives until then - Sirius had been in Azkaban, the terrifying wizard jail guarded by creatures called dementors, sightless, soul-sucking fiends who had come to search for Sirius at Hogwarts when he had escaped. Yet Sirius had been innocent - the murders for which he had been convicted had been committed by Wormtail, Voldemort's supporter, whom nearly everybody now believed dead. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I knew otherwise, however; we had come face-to-face with Wormtail only the previous year, though only Professor Dumbledore had believed our story.

For one glorious hour, Harry and I had believed that we were leaving the Dursleys at last, because Sirius had offered us a home once his name had been cleared. But the chance had been snatched away from us - Wormtail had escaped before we could take him to the Ministry of Magic, and Sirius had had to flee for his life. Harry and I had helped him escape on the back of a hippogriff called Buckbeak, and since then, Sirius had been on the run. The home Harry and I might have had if Wormtail had not escaped had been haunting us all summer. It had been doubtly hard to return to the Dursleys knowing that we had so nearly escaped them forever.

Nevertheless, Sirius had been of some help to the two of us even if we couldn't be with him. It was due to Sirius that Harry and I now had all our school things in our bedroom with us. The Dursleys had never allowed this before; their general wish of keeping Harry and I as miserable as possible, coupled with their fear of his powers, had led them to lock our school trunks in the cupboard under the stairs every summer prior to this. But their attitude had changed since they had found out that Harry and I had a dangerous murderer for a godfather - for Harry and I had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was innocent.

Harry and I had received two letters from Sirius since we had been back at Privet Drive. Both had been delivered, not by owls (as was usual with wizards), but by large, brightly colored tropical birds. Hedwig had not approved of these flashy intruders; she had been most reluctant to allow them to drink from her water tray before flying off again. Elon had been more apt to interacting with the birds, but chase them away from Hedwig when they got too close, and I had the impression he was trying to show off for her by chasing away birds that made her uncomfortable. I thought it was cute. Harry and I, on the other hand, had liked them; they put us in mind of palm trees and white sand, and we hoped that, wherever Sirius was (Sirius never said, in case the letters were intercepted), he was enjoying himself. Somehow Harry and I found it hard to imagine dementors surviving for long in bright sunlight; perhaps that was why Sirius had gone south. Sirius's letters, which were now hidden beneath the highly useful loose floorboard under Harry's bed, sounded cheerful, and in both of them he had reminded Harry and I to call on him if ever we needed to. Well, we needed to now, all right.

Harry's lamp seemed to grow dimmer as the cold gray light that precedes sunrise slowly crept into the room. Finally, when the sun had risen, when our bedroom walls had turned gold, and when sounds of movement could be heard from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's room, I helped Harry clear his desk of crumpled pieces of parchment and he read aloud the finished letter.

_Dear Sirius,_

_Thanks for your last letter. That bird was enormous; it could hardly get through our window._

_Things are the same as usual here. Dudley's diet isn't going too well. Our aunt found him smuggling doughnuts into his room yesterday. They told him they'd have to cut his pocket money if he keeps doing it, so he got really angry and chucked his PlayStation out of the windows. That's a sort of computer thing you can play games on. Bit stupid really, now he hasn't even got _Mega-Mutilation Part Three _to take his mind off things._

_We're okay, mainly because the Dursleys are terrified you might turn up and turn them all into bats if we ask you to._

_A weird thing happened this morning, though. Our scars hurt again. Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But we don't reckon he can be anywhere near us now, can he? Do you know if curse scars sometimes hurt years afterward?_

_We'll send this with Hedwig when she gets back; she and Elon're off hunting at the moment. Say hello to Buckbeak for us._

_Harry and Cheyenne._

Yes, Harry and I agreed, that looked all right. There was no point putting in the dream; we didn't want it to look as though we were too worried. He folded up the parchment and laid it aside on our desk, ready for when Hedwig and Elon returned. Then he got to his feet, stretched, and opened our wardrobe once more. Without glancing at his reflection, Harry handed me clothes before getting something for himself. I went onto my side of the room and pulled the thick blanket hung up so we could have privacy and we started to get dressed. Once we were dressed and ready, we headed down for breakfast, silently agreeing not to think about our scars any more until we got a reply from Sirius.


	3. The Invitation

**Chapter Three**

**The Invitation**

By the time Harry and I arrived in the kitchen, the three Dursleys were already seated around the table. None of them looked up as we entered or sat down. Uncle Vernon's large red face was hidden behind the morning's _Daily Mail_, and Aunt Petunia was cutting a grapefruit into quarters, her lips pursed over her horselike teeth.

Dudley looked furious and sulky, and somehow seemed to be taking up even more space than usual. This was saying something, as he always took up an entire side of the square table by himself. When Aunt Petunia put a quarter of unsweetened grapefruit onto Dudley's plate with a tremulous "There you are Diddy darling," Dudley glowered at her. His life had taken a most unpleasant turn since he had come home for the summer with his end-of-year report.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had managed to find excuses for his bad marks as usual: Aunt Petunia always insisted that Dudley was a very gifted boy whose teachers didn't understand him, while Uncle Vernon maintained that "he didn't want some swotty little nancy boy for a son anyway." They also skated over the accusations of bullying in the report - "He's a boisterous little boy, but he wouldn't hurt a fly!" Aunt Petunia had said tearfully.

However, at the bottom of the report there were a few well-chosen comments from the school nurse that not even Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia could explain away. No matter how much Aunt Petunia wailed that Dudley was big-boned, and that his poundage was puppy fat, and that he was a growing boy who needed plenty of food, the fact remained that the school outfitters didn't stock knickerbockers big enough for him anymore. The school nurse had seen what Aunt Petunia's eyes - so sharp when it came to spotting fingerprints on her gleaming walls, and in observing the comings and goings of the neightbors - simply refused to see: that far from needing extra nourishment, Dudley had reached roughly the size and weight of a young killer whale.

So - after many tantrums, after arguments that shook my and Harry's bedroom floor, and many tears from Aunt Petunia - the new regime had begun. The diet sheet that had been sent by the Smeltings school nurse had been taped to the fridge, which had been emptied of all Dudley's favorite things - fizzy drinks and cakes, chocolate bars and burgers - and filled instead with fruit and vegetables and the sorts of things that Uncle Vernon called "rabbit food." To make Dudley feel better about it all, Aunt Petunia had insisted that the whole family follow the diet too. She now passed a grapefruit quarter each to Harry and I. We noticed that they were a lot smaller than Dudley's. Aunt Petunia seemed to feel that the best way to keep up Dudley's moral was to make sure that he did, at least, get more to eat than Harry and I.

But Aunt Petunia didn't know what was hidden under the loose floorboard upstairs. She had no idea that neither Harry nor I were following the diet at all. The moment we had got wind of the fact that we were expected to survive the summer on carrot sticks, Harry and I had sent Hedwig and Elon to our friends with pleas for help, and they had risen to the occasion magnificently. Hedwig had returned from Hermione's house with a large box stuffed full of sugar-free snacks. (Hermione's parents were dentists.) Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had obliged with a sack full of his own homemade rock cakes (Neither Harry nor I had touched these; we had had too much experience of Hagrid's cooking.) Mrs. Weasley, however, had sent both the family owl, Errol, and Elon, with an enormous fruitcake each and assorted meat pies. Poor Errol, who was elderly and feeble, had needed a full five days to recover from the journey. And then on Harry's birthday (which the Dursleys had completely ignored) he had received four superb birthday cakes, one each from Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and Sirius. Harry still had two of them left, and so, looking froward to a real breakfast when we got back upstairs, we ate our grapefruit without complaint.

Uncle Vernon laid aside his paper with a deep sniff of disapproval and looked down at his own grapefruit quarter.

"Is this it?" he said grumpily to Aunt Petunia.

Aunt Petunia gave him a severe look, and then nodded pointedly at Dudley, who had already finished his own grapefruit quarter and was eyeing my and Harry's with a very sour look in his piggy little eyes.

Uncle Vernon gave a great sigh, which ruffled his large, bushy mustache, and picked up his spoon.

The doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon heaved himself out of his chair and set off down the hall. Quick as a flash, while his mother was occupied with the kettle, Dudley stole the rest of Uncle Vernon's grapefruit. I pushed the rest of mine away in disgust just watching him eat and he snatched it before I could reconsider.

Harry and I heard talking at the door, and someone laughing, and Uncle Vernon answering curtly. Then the front door closed, and the sound of ripping paper came from the hall.

Aunt Petunia set the teapot down on the table and looked curiously around to see where Uncle Vernon had gone to. She didn't have to wait long to find out; after about a minute, he was back. He looked livid.

"You two," he barked at Harry and I. "In the living room. Now."

Bewildered, wondering what on earth we were supposed to have done this time, Harry stood and took my hand as we followed Uncle Vernon out of the kitchen and into the next room. Uncle Vernon closed the door sharply behind the three of us.

"So," he said, marching over to the fireplace and turning to face Harry and I as though he were about to pronounce us under arrest. _"So."_

Harry and I would have dearly loved to have said, "So what?" but we didn't feel that Uncle Vernon's temper should be tested this early in the morning, especially when it was already under severe strain from lack of food. We therefore settled for looking politely puzzled.

"This just arrived," Uncle Vernon said. He brandished a piece of purple writing paper at Harry and I. "A letter. About you two."

My and Harry's confusion increased. Who would be writing to Uncle Vernon about us? Who did we know who sent letters by the postman?

Uncle Vernon glared at the two of us, then looked down at the letter and began to read aloud:

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,_

_We have never been introduced, but I am sure you have heard a great deal from Harry and Cheyenne about my son Ron._

_As Harry and Cheyenne might have told you, the final of the Quidditch World Cup takes place this Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports._

_I do hope you will allow us to take both Harry and Cheyenne to the match, as this really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; Britain hasn't hosted the Cup for thirty years, and tickets are extremely hard to come by. We would of course be glad to have Harry and Cheyenne stay for the remainder of the summer holidays, and to see them safely onto the train back to school._

_It would be best for Harry and Cheyenne to send us your answer as quickly as possible in the normal way, because the Muggle postman has never delivered to our home, and I am not sure he even knows where it is._

_Hoping to see Harry and Cheyenne soon,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_**Molly Weasley**_

_P.S. I do hope we've put enough stamps on._

Uncle Vernon finished reading, put his hand back into his breast pocket, and drew out something else.

"Look at this," he growled.

He held up the envelope in which Mrs. Weasley's letter had come and Harry and I had to squeeze each other's hands painfully to keep from laughing. Every bit of it was covered in stamps except for a square inch on the front, into which Mrs. Weasley had squeezed the Dursleys' address in minute writing.

"She did put enough stamps on, then," Harry and I said, trying to sound as though Mrs. Weasley's was a mistake anyone could make. Our uncle's eyes flashed.

"The postman noticed," he said through gritted teeth. "Very interested to know where this letter came from, he was. That's why he rang the doorbell. Seemed to think it was _funny_."

Neither Harry nor I said anything. Other people might not understand why Uncle Vernon was making a fuss about too many stamps, but both Harry and I had lived with the Dursleys too long not to know how touchy they were about anything even slightly out of the ordinary. Their worst fear was that someone would find out that they were connected (however distantly) with people like Mrs. Weasley.

Uncle Vernon was still glaring at Harry and I, both of us trying to keep our expressions neutral. If we didn't do or say anything stupid, we might just be in for the treat of a lifetime. We waited for Uncle Vernon to say something, but he merely continued to glare. Harry decided to break the silence.

"So - can we go then?" he asked.

A slight spasm crossed Uncle Vernon's large purple face. The mustache bristled. Harry and I thought we knew what was going on behind the mustache: a furious battle as two of Uncle Vernon's most fundamental instincts came into conflict. Allowing Harry and I to go would make us both happy, something Uncle Vernon had struggled against for thirteen years. On the other hand, allowing Harry and I to disappear to the Weasleys' for the rest of the summer would get rid of us two weeks earlier than anyone could have hoped, and Uncle Vernon hated having Harry and I in the house. To give himself thinking time, it seemed, he looked down at Mrs. Weasley's letter again.

"Who is this woman?" he asked, staring at the signature with distaste.

"You've seen her," I said. "She's our friend Ron's mother, she was meeting him off the Hog - off the school train at the end of last term."

I had almost said "Hogwarts Express," and that was a sure way to get our uncle's temper up. Nobody ever mentioned the name of my or Harry's school aloud in the Dursley household.

Uncle Vernon screwed up his enormous face as though trying to remember something very unpleasant.

"Dumpy sort of woman?" he growled finally. "Loads of children with red hair?"

Harry and I frowned. We thought it was a bit rich of Uncle Vernon to call anyone "dumpy," when his own son, Dudley, had finally achieved what he'd been threatening to do since the age of three, and become wider than he was tall.

Uncle Vernon was perusing the letter again.

"Quidditch," he muttered under his breath. _"Quidditch_ - what is this rubbish?"

Harry and I both felt a second stab of annoyance.

"It's a sport," Harry said shortly. "Played on broom -"

"All right, all right!" Uncle Vernon said loudly. Harry and I saw, with some satisfaction, that our uncle looked vaguely panicky. Apparently his nerves couldn't stand the sound of the word "broomsticks" in his living room. He took refuge in perusing the letter again. We could see his lips form the words "send us your answer...in the normal way." he scowled.

"What does she mean, 'the normal way'?" he spat.

"Normal for us," Harry said, and before our uncle could stop him, he added, "you know, owl post. That's what's normal for wizards."

Uncle Vernon looked as outraged as if Harry had just uttered a disgusting swearword. Shaking with anger, he shot a nervous look through the window, as though expecting to see some of the neighbors with their ears pressed against the glass.

"How many times do I have to tell you both not to mention that unnaturalness under my roof?" he hissed, his face now a rich plum color. "You both stand there, in the clothes Petunia and I have put on your ungrateful backs -"

"Only after Dudley finished with them," Harry and I said coldly, and indeed, we were each dressed in sweatshirt so large for us that we had had to roll back the sleeves five times so as to be able to use our hands, and which fell past the knees of our extremely baggy jeans. "And I don't even have proper underclothes. I am a girl here!" I growled.

"I will not be spoke to like that!" Uncle Vernon said, trembling with rage.

Harry wrapped an arm around my waist and pushed me behind him, but I knew, like myself, he wasn't going to stand for this. Gone were the days when we had been forced to take every single one of the Dursleys' stupid rules. We weren't following Dudley's diet, and we weren't going to let Uncle Vernon stop us from going to the Quidditch World Cup, not if we could help it. I felt Harry take a deep, steadying breath and then said, "Okay, we can't see the World Cup. Can we go now, then? Only, Chey and I've got a letter to Sirius we want to finish. You know - our godfather."

He had done it. He had said the magic words. Now we watched the purple recede blotchily from Uncle Vernon's face, making it look like badly mixed black currant ice cream.

"You're - you're writing to him, are you?" Uncle Vernon said, in a would-be calm voice - but both Harry and I had seen the pupils of his tiny eyes contract with sudden fear.

"Well - yeah," I said, casually. "It's been a while since he heard from us, and, you know, if he doesn't, he might start thinking something's wrong."

I paused there to enjoy the effect of these words. We could almost see the cogs working under Uncle Vernon's thick, dark, neatly parted hair. If he tried to stop Harry and I writing to Sirius, Sirius would think the two of us were being mistreated. If he told Harry and I we couldn't go to the Quidditch World Cup, we would write and tell Sirius, who would _know_ we were being mistreated. There was only one thing for Uncle Vernon to do. Harry and I could see the conclusion forming in our uncle's mind as though the great mustached face were transparent. Neither of us tried to smile, to keep our own faces as blank as possible. And then -

"Well, all right then. You both can go to this ruddy...this stupid...this World Cup thing. You write and tell these - these _Weasleys_ they're to pick you both up, mind. I haven't got time to go dropping off either of you all over the country. And you can spend the rest of the summer there. And you can tell your - your godfather...tell him...tell him you're going."

"Okay then," Harry and I said brightly.

We turned and walked toward the living room door, fighting the urge to jump into the air and whoop. We were going...we were going to the Weasleys', we were going to watch the Quidditch World Cup!

Outside in the hall we nearly ran into Dudley, who had been lurking behind the door, clearly hoping to overhear Harry and I being told off. He looked shocked to see the broad grins on my and Harry's faces.

"That was an _excellent_ breakfast, wasn't it?" Harry said. "We feel really full, don't you?"

Laughing at the astonished look on Dudley's face, Harry and I took the stairs three at a time, and hurled ourselves back into our bedroom.

The first thig we saw was that Hedwig and Elon were back. They were both sitting in their cages, her staring at Harry with her enormous amber eyes, and clicking her beak in the way that meant she was annoyed. Elon ruffled his feathers and was hooting in that way I knew was probably a laugh. Exactly what was annoying her and entertaining him became apparent almost at once.

"OUCH!" Harry said as what appeared to be a small, gray, feathery tennis ball collided with the side of his head. I checked his cheek to be sure he wasn't bleeding while he looked up to see what had hit him and I turned my gaze upward soon after. I saw a minute owl, small enough to fit into the palm of our hands, whizzing excitedly around the room like a loose firework. Harry then pointed out that the owl had dropped a letter at his feet and while he stooped down to grab it, I went to get the owl and settle him down. Harry said the letter was from Ron and I heard him tear open the envelope. He read aloud what it said as I grabbed the owl and sat on my bed, smoothing his feathers and whispering soothingly.

_Harry, Chey - DAD GOT THE TICKETS - Ireland versus Bulgaria, Monday night. Mum's writing to the Muggles to ask you to stay. They might already have the letter, I don't know how fast Muggle post is. Thought I'd send this with Pig anyway._

Harry frowned at the word Pig and I looked up, raising my eyebrows. He slowly lifted his gaze to the owl now sitting on the back of my hand, hooting happily and hopping around rather excitedly. Neither of us had ever seen anything that looked less like a Pig. Maybe he couldn't read Ron's writing. He continued on with the letter:

_We're coming for you both whether the Muggles like it or not, neither of you can miss the World Cup, only Mum and Dad reckon it's better if we pretend to ask their permission first. If they say yes, send Pig back with your answer pronto, and we'll come and get you at five o'clok on Sunday. If they say no, send Pig back pronto and we'll come and get you both at five o'clock on Sunday anyway. _

_Hermione's arriving this afternoon. Percy's started work - the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don't mention anything about Abroad while you're here unless you want the pants bored off you. _

_See you both soon -_

_**Ron**_

"Calm down, little one, calm down!" I said as the small owl started to fly around my head and twitter madly with what Harry and I could only assume was pride at having delivered the letter to the right people. "Come here, we need you to take our answer back!"

The owl fluttered down on top of Hedwig's cage. Hedwig looked coldly up at it, as though daring it to try and come any closer. Elon hooted softly and Hedwig clicked her beak at him in annoyance.

Harry seized his eagle-feather quill once more, grabbed a fresh piece of parchment, and wrote:

_Ron, it's all okay, the Muggles say we can come. See you five o'clock tomorrow. Can't wait._

_**Harry and Cheyenne**_

He folded this note up very small, and with immense difficulty, tied it to the tiny owl's leg as it hopped on the spot with excitement. The moment the note was secure, the owl was off again; it zoomed out of the window and out of sight.

I turned to Hedwig.

"Feeling up to a long journey?" I asked her softly.

Hedwig hooted in a dignified sort of way.

"Can you take this to Sirius for us?" Harry said, picking up our letter. "Hang on...we just want to finish it."

He unfolded the parchment and hastily added a postscript.

_If you want to contact us, we'll be at our friend Ron Weasley's for the rest of the summer. His dad's got us tickets for the Quidditch World Cup!_

The letter finished, he tied it to Hedwig's leg; she kept unusually still, as though determined to show us how a real post owl should behave.

"Wait, Elon, could you go with Hedwig? It might be easier on you since Harry and I won't be here after tomorrow." I said, speaking to the handsome raven black owl sitting in the cage next to Hedwig. He hooted happily and ruffled his feathers before fluttering over to my shoulder and rubbing his head against my cheek. I giggled, "Good boy."

"Is that all right, Hedwig?" Harry asked the snowy owl. She hooted softly and snapped her beak, which we took as a yes. Harry stroked her feathers. "We'll be at Ron's when you both get back, all right?"

Hedwig nipped his finger affectionately, then, with a soft swooshing noise, spread her enormous wings and soared out the open window, calling after her for Elon. He hooted and soared after her.

Harry and I watched them soar out of sight, then he crawled under his bed, wrenched up the loose floorboard, and pulled out a couple of large chunks of birthday cake. We sat there on the floor, eating them, savoring the happiness that was flooding through us. We had cake, and Dudley had nothing but grapefruit; it was a bright summer's day, we would be leaving Privet Drive tomorrow, our scars felt perfectly normal again, and we were going to watch the Quidditch World Cup. It was hard, just now, to feel worried about anything - even Lord Voldemort.


	4. Back to the Burrow

**Chapter Four**

**Back to the Burrow**

By twelve o'clock the next day, both my and Harry's school trunks were packed with our school things and all our most prized possesssions - the Invisibility Cloaks we had inherited from our fathers, the broomsticks we had gotten from Sirius, the enchanted map of Hogwarts we'd been give by Fred and George Weasley last year. He had emptied his hiding place under the loose floorboard of all food, we'd double checked every nook and cranny of our bedroom for forgotten spellbooks or quills, and taken down the chart on the wall counting down the days to September the first, on which we liked to cross off the days remaining until our return to Hogwarts.

The atmosphere inside number four, Privet Drive was extremely tense. The imminent arrival at their house of an assortment of wizards was making the Dursleys uptight and irritable. Uncle Vernon had looked downright alarmed when Harry and I informed him that the Weasleys would be arriving at five o'clock the very next day.

"I hope you told them to dress properly, these people," he snarled at once. "I've seen the sort of stuff your lot wear. They'd better have the decency to put on normal clothes, that's all."

Harry and I both felt a slight sense of foreboding. We had rarely seen Mr. or Mrs. Weasley wearing anything that the Dursleys would call "normal." Their children might don Muggle clothing during the holidays, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually wore long robes of varying states of shabbiness. Neither Harry nor I were bothered about what the neighbors would think, but we were anxious about how rude the Dursleys might be to the Weasleys if they turned up looking like their worst idea of wizards.

Uncle Vernon had put on his best suit. To some people, this might have looked like a gesture of welcome, but Harry and I both knew it was because Uncle Vernon wanted to look impressive and intimidating. Dudley, on the other hand, looked somehow diminished. This was not because the diet was at last taking effect, but due to fright. Dudley had emerged from his last encounter with a fully-grown wizard with a curly pig's tail poking out of the seat of his trousers, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had had to pay for its removal at a private hospital in London. It wasn't altogether surprising, therefore, that Dudley kept running his hand nervously over his backside, and walking sideways from room to room, so as not to present the same target to the enemy.

Lunch was an almost silent meal. Dudley didn't even protest at the food (cottage cheese and grated celery). Aunt Petunia wasn't eating anything at all. Her arms were folded, her lips were pursed, and she seemed to be chewing her tongue, as though biting back the furious diatribe she longed to throw at Harry and I.

"They'll be driving, of course?" Uncle Vernon barked across the table.

"Er," Harry said, glancing at me.

We hadn't thought of that. How _were_ the Weasleys going to pick us up? They didn't have a car anymore; the old Ford Anglia they had once owned was currently running wild in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. But Mr. Weasley had borrowed a Ministry of Magic car last year; possibly he would do the same today?

"We think so," I said softly.

Uncle Vernon snorted into his mustache. Normally, Uncle Vernon would have asked what car Mr. Weasley drove; he tended to judge other men by how big and expensive their cars were. But Harry and I doubted whether Uncle Vernon would have taken to Mr. Weasley even if he drove a Ferrari.

Harry and I spent most of the afternoon in our bedroom; we couldn't stand watching Aunt Petunia peer out through the net curtains every few seconds, as though there had been a warning about an escaped rhinoceros. Finally, at a quarter to five, Harry and I went back downstairs and into the living room.

Aunt Petunia was compulsively straightening cushions. Uncle Vernon was pretending to read the paper, but his tiny eyes were not moving, and Harry and I were sure he was really listening with all his might for the sound of an approaching car. Dudley was crammed into an armchair, his porky hands beneath him, clamped firmly around his bottom. Neither of us could take the tension; we left the room and went and sat on the stairs in the hall, our eyes on his watch and our hearts pumping quickly in unison from excitement and nerves.

But five o'clock came and then went. Uncle Vernon, perspiring slightly in his suit, opened the front door, peered up and down the street, then withdrew his head quickly.

"They're late!' he snarled at Harry and I.

"We know," Harry and I said. "Maybe - er - the traffic's bad, or something."

Ten past five...then a quarter past five...Harry and I were starting to feel anxious ourselves now. At half past, we heard Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia conversing in terse mutters in the living room.

"No consideration at all."

"We might've had an engagement."

"Maybe they think they'll get invited to dinner if they're late."

"Well, they most certainly won't be," Uncle Vernon said, and Harry and I heard him stand up and start pacing the living room. "They'll take those two and go, there'll be no hanging around. That's if they're coming at all. Probably mistaken the day. I daresay _their kind_ don't set much store by punctuality. Either that or they drive some tin-pot that'd broken d - AAAAAAARRRRRGH!"

Harry and I jumped up. From the other side of the living room door came the sounds of the three Dursleys scrambling, panic-striken, across the room. Next moment Dudley came flying into the hall, looking terrified.

"What happened?" Harry asked. "What's the matter?"

But Dudley didn't seem able to speak. Hands still clamped over his buttocks, he waddled as fast as he could into the kitchen. Harry and I hurried into the living room.

Loud bangings and scrapings were coming from behind the Dursleys' boarded-up fireplace, which had a fake coal fire plugged in front of it.

"What is it?" Aunt Petunia gasped, who had backed into the wall and was staring, terrified, toward the fire. "What is it, Vernon?"

But they were left in doubt barely a second later. Voices could be heard from inside the blocked fireplace.

"Ouch! Fred, no - go back, go back, there's been some kind of mistake - tell George not to - OUCH! George, no, there's no room, go back quickly and tell Ron -"

"Maybe Chey and Harry can hear us, Dad - maybe they'll be able to let us out -"

There was a loud hammering of fists on the boards behind the electric fire.

"Harry? Cheyenne, can you hear us?"

The Dursleys rounded on us like a pair of angry wolverines.

"Who is this?" Uncle Vernon growled. "What's going on?"

"They - they've tried to get here by Floo power," Harry said as I edged around the coffee table and went to the fireplace.

"Mr. Weasley? George? Fred!" I called through the wood, trying to move the electric fire out of the way to speak directly through the wood, but it was too heavy for me to move by myself.

The hammering stopped. Somebody inside the chimney piece said, "Shh!" and there was a quick shuffle of bodies.

"Chey! Chey, what's going on, why can't we get through?" Fred's voice suddenly reached me from behind some of the boards closest to me.

"Fred?" Harry had joined me now. "Mr. Weasley, it's Harry...the fireplace has been blocked up. You won't be able to get through there."

"Damn!" Came Mr. Weasley's voice. "Why on earth did they want to block up the fireplace for?"

"They've got an electric fire," Harry and I explained.

"Really?" Mt. Weasley's voice said excitedly. "Eclectic, you say? With a _plug_? Gracious, I must see that...Let's think...ouch, Ron!"

Ron's voice now joined the others'.

"What are we doing here? Has something gone wrong?"

"Oh no, Ron," Fred's voice came again, very sarcastically. "No, this is exactly where we wanted to end up."

"Yeah, we're having the time of our lives here," George said, whose voice sound muffled, as though he was squashed against the wall.

"Boys, boys..." Mr. Weasley said vaguely. "I'm trying to think what to do...Yes...only way...Stand back, Harry, Cheyenne."

Harry grabbed my shoulders and we retreated to the sofa. Uncle Vernon, however, moved forward.

"Wait a moment!" he bellowed at the fire. "What exactly are you going to -"

BANG.

The electric fire shot across the room as the boarded-up fireplace burst outward, expelling Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, and Ron in a cloud of rubble and loose chippings. Aunt Petunia shrieked and fell backward over the coffee table; Uncle Vernon caught her before she hit the floor, and gaped, speechless, at the Weasleys, all of whom had bright red hair including Fred and George, who were identical to the last freckle.

"That's better," Mr. Weasley panted brushing dust from his long green robes and straightening his glasses. "Ah - you must be Harry and Cheyenne's aunt and uncle."

Tall, thin, and balding, he moved toward Uncle Vernon, his hand outstretched, but Uncle Vernon backed away several paces, dragging Aunt Petunia. Words utterly failed him. His best suit was covered in white dust, which had settled in his hair and mustache and made him look as though he had just aged thirty years.

"Er - yes - sorry about that," Mr. Weasley said, lowering his hand and looking over his shoulder at the blasted fireplace. "It's all my fault. It just didn't occur to me that we wouldn't be able to get out at the other end. I had your fireplace connected to the Floo Network, you see - just for an afternoon, you know, so we could get Harry and Cheyenne. Muggle fireplaces aren't supposed to be connected, strictly speaking - but I've got a useful contact at the Floo Regultion Panel and he fixed it for me. I can put it right in a juffy, though, don't worry. I'll light a fire to send the children back, and then I can repair your fireplace before I Disapparate."

Harry and I were ready to bet that the Dursleys hadn't understood a single word of this. They will still gaping at Mr. Weasley, thunderstruck. Aunt Petunia staggered upright again and hid behind Uncle Vernon. I pushed away from Harry and hurried over to the boys, helping each to their feet. Fred pulled me into a tight hug.

"Hello, Harry, Cheyenne!" Mr. Weasley said brightly. "Got your trunks ready?"

"They're upstairs," Harry said, grinning back.

"We'll get them," Fred said at once. Winking at me, he gently pulled away from the embrace, and he and George left the room. They knew where my and Harry's bedroom was, having once rescued us from it in the dead of night. Harry and I suspected that Fred and George were hoping for a glimpse of Dudley; they had heard a lot about him from both Harry and myself.

"Well," Mr. Weasley said, swinging his arms slightly, while he tried to find words to break the very nasty silence. "Very - erm - very nice place you've got here."

As the usually spotless living room was now covered in dust and bits of brick, this remark didn't go down too well with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon's face purpled once more, and Aunt Petunia started chewing her tongue again. However, they seemed too scared to actually say anything.

Mr. Weasley was looking around. He loved everything to do with Muggles. Harry and I could see him itching to go and examine the television and the video recorder.

"They run off eckeltricity, do they?" he said knowledgeably. "Ah yes, I can see the plugs. I collect plugs," he added to Uncle Vernon. "And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My wife thinks I'm mad, but there you are."

Uncle Vernon clearly through Mr. Weasley was mad too. He moved ever so slightly to the right, screening Aunt Petunia from view, as though he thought Mr. Weasley might suddenly run at them and attack.

Dudley suddenly reappeared in the room. Harry and I could hear the clunk of our trunks on the stairs, and knew that the sounds had scared Dudley out of the kitchen. Dudley edged along the wall, gazing at Mr. Weasley with terrified eyes, and attempted to conceal himself behind his mother and father. Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon's bulk, while sufficient to hide bony Aunt Petunia, was nowhere near enough to conceal Dudley.

"Ah, this is your cousin, is it, Harry, Cheyenne?" Mr. Weasley said, taking another brave stab at making conversation.

"Yep," I said, "that's Dudley."

We exchanged glances with Ron, and then quickly looked away from each other; the temptation to burst out laughing was almost overwhelming. Dudley was still clutching his bottom as though afraid it might fall off. Mr. Weasley, however, seem genuinely concerned at Dudley's peculiar behavior. Indeed, from the tone of his voice when he next spoke, Harry and I were quite sure that Mr. Weasley thought Dudley was quite as mad as the Dursleys thought _he_ was, except that Mr. Weasley felt sumpathy rather than fear.

"Having a good holiday, Dudley?" he asked kindly.

Dudley whimpered. Harry and I saw his hands tighten still harder over his massive backside.

Fred and George came back into the room carrying my and Harry's school trunks, one on top of the other. They glanced around as they entered and spotted Dudley. Their faces cracked into identical evil grins.

"Ah, right," Mr. Weasley said. "Better get cracking then."

He pushed up the sleeves of his robes and took out his wand. Harry and I watched the Dursleys draw back against the wall as one.

_"Incendio!"_ Mr. Weasley said, pointing his wand at the hole in the wall behind him.

Flames rose at once in the fireplace, crackling merrily as though they had been burning for hours. Mr. Weasley took a small drawstring bag from his pocket, untied it, took a pinch of the powder inside, and threw it onto the flames, which turned emerald green and roared higher than ever.

"Off you go then, George," Mr. Weasley said, "you and one of the trunks."

"Coming," George said. "Oh no - hang on -"

A bag of sweets had spilled out of George's pocket and the contents were now rolling in every direction - big, fat toffees in brightly colored wrappers.

George scrambled around, cramming them back into his pocket, then gave the Dursleys a cheery wave, and, with Harry's help, carried the trunk forward into the flames. They turned it onto its end so that he could hold it better. Then, with a loud whoosh, he cried "the Burrow!" and Aunt Petunia gave a little shuddering gasp as he and the trunk disappeared.

"Right, then Ron, you next," Mr. Weasley said, motioning Ron forward.

"See you," Ron said brightly to the Dursleys. He grinned broadly at Harry and I, then stepped into the fire, shouted "the Burrow!" and, with a second whoosh, disappeared.

Fred, Harry, Mr. Weasley, and I alone remained.

"Well...'bye then," Harry and I said to the Dursleys.

They didn't say anything at all. Harry started toward the fire, but just as he reached the edge of the hearth, Mr. Weasley put out a hand and held him back. He was looking at the Dursleys in amazement.

"Harry and Cheyenne said good-bye to you," he said. "Didn't you hear them?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry muttered to Mr. Weasley. "Honestly, we don't care."

Mr. Weasley did not remove his hand from Harry's shoulder.

"You aren't going to see your niece and nephew till next summer," he said to Uncle Vernon in mild indignation. "Surely you're going to say good-bye?"

Uncle Vernon's face worked furiously. The idea of being taught consideration by a man who had just blasted away half his living room wall seemed to be causing him intense suffering. But Mr. Weasley's wand was still in his hand, and Uncle Vernon's tiny eyes darted to it once, before he said, very resentfully. "Good-bye, then."

"See you," Harry said, putting one foot forward into the green flames, which looked pleasantly warm like a gust of summer wind. At that moment, however, a horrible gagging sound erupted behind us, and Aunt Petunia started to scream.

Harry, Fred, and I wheeled around. Dudley was no longer standing behind his parents. He was kneeling beside the coffee table, and he was gagging and sputtering on a foot-long, purple, slimy thing that was protruding from his mouth. One bewildered second later, we realized that the foot-long thing was Dudley's tongue - and that a brightly colored toffee wrapper lay on the floor before him.

Aunt Petunia hurled herself onto the ground beside Dudley, seized the end of his swollen tongue, and attempted to wrench it out of his mouth; unsurprisingly, Dudley yelled and sputtered worse than ever, trying to fight her off. Uncle Vernon was bellowing and waving his arms around, and Mr. Weasley had to shout to make himself heard.

"Not to worry, I can sort him out!" he yelled, advancing on Dudley with his wand outstretched, but Aunt Petunia screamed worse than ever and threw herself on top of Dudley, shielding him from Mr. Weasley.

"No, really!" Mr. Weasley said desperately. "It's a simple process - it was the toffee - my sons Fred and George - real practical jokers - but it's only an Engorgement Charm - at least, I think it is - please, I can correct it -"

But far from being reassured, the Dursleys became more panic-striken; Aunt Petunia was sobbing hysterically, tugging Dudley's tongue as though determined to rip it out; Dudley appeared to be suffocating under the combined pressure of his mother and his tongue; and Uncle Vernon, who had lost control completely, seized a china figure from on top of the sideboard and threw it very hard at Mr. Weasley, who ducked, causing the ornament to shatter in the blasted fireplace.

"Now really!" Mr. Weasley said angrily, brandishing his wand. "I'm trying to _help_!"

Bellowing like a wounded hippo, Uncle Vernon snatched up another ornament.

"Harry, go! Fred, take them and go!" Mr. Weasley shouted, his wand on Uncle Vernon. "I'll sort this out!"

Neither Harry nor I wanted to miss the fun and I knew Fred felt the same, but a second and third ornament narrowly missed his left ear and Fred just pulled me out of the way as one of the ornments just missed me, and we all thought it best to leave the situation to Mr. Weasley. Harry stepped into the fire, and looked over his shoulder as he said "the Burrow!" and disappeared with a loud whoosh. "Come on, Chey!" Fred said and I could hear the laughter in his voice as he took my hand and wrapped his arm around my waist. We stepped quickly into the fire and looked back over our shoulders as he said, "the Burrow!" Our last fleeting glimpse of the living room was of Mr. Weasley blasting a fifth ornament out of Uncle Vernon's hand with his wand, Aunt Petunia screaming and lying on top of Dudley, and Dudley's tongue lolling around like a great slimpy python. But next moment, Fred and I had begun to spin very fast, and the Dursleys' living room was whipped out of sight in a rush of emerald-green flames.


	5. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

**Chapter Five**

**Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

Fred and I spun faster and faster, elbows tucked tightly to our sides, Fred's arm wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me as close to his side as he could. Blurred fireplaces flashed past us, until I started to feel sick and closed my eyes, burying my face in Fred's shoulder. His arm tightened around my waist. Then, when at last we felt ourselves slowing, Fred put his hand out and gripped the side of the fire to steady us.

"Did he eat it?" George said excitedly as Fred and I stepped out of the fireplace.

"Oh, yeah," Fred said, chuckling as he released me and high-fived his twin.

"But what _was_ that?!" Harry asked.

"Ton-Tongue Toffee," Fred said brightly. "George and I invented them, and we've been looking for someone to test them on all summer..."

The tiny kitchen exploded with laughter; Harry and I looked around and saw that Ron and George were sitting at the scrubbed wooden table with two red-haired people neither Harry nor I had ever seen before, though we knew immediately who they must be: Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley brothers.

"How're you doing, Harry, Cheyenne?" the nearer of the two said, grinning at us and holding out a large hand, which Harry and I shook in turn, feeling calluses and blisters under our fingers. This had to be Charlie, who worked with dragons in Romania. Charlie was built like the twins, shorter and stockier than Percy and Ron, who were both long and lanky. He had a broad, good-natured face, which was weather-beaten and so freckly that he looked almost tanned; his arms were muscular, and one of them had a large, shiny burn on it.

Bill got to his feet, smiling, and also shook my and Harry's hands. Bill came as something of a surprise. Harry and I knew that he worked for the wizarding bank, Gringotts, and that Bill had been Head Boy at Hogwarts; We had always imagined Bill to be an older version of Percy; fussy about rule-breaking and fond of bossing everyone around. However, Bill was - there was no other word for it - _cool_. He was tall, with long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing an earring with what looked like a fang dangling from it. Bill's clothes would not have looked out of place at a rock concert, except that Harry and I recognized his boots to be made, not of leather, but of dragon hide.

Before any of us could say anything else, there was a faint popping noise, and Mr. Weasley appeared out of thin air at George's shoulder. he was looking angrier than either Harry or I had ever seen him.

"That _wasn't funny_, George!" he shouted. "What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?"

"I didn't give him anything," George said, with another evil grin. "I just _dropped_ it...It was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to."

"You dropped it on purpose!" Mr. Weasley roared. "You knew he'd eat it, you knew he was on a diet -"

"How big did his tongue get?" George asked eagerly.

"It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!"

Harry, the Weasleys, and I roared with laughter again.

"It _isn't funny_!" Mr. Weasley shouted. "That sort of behavior seriously undermines wizard - Muggle relations! I spent half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons -"

"We didn't give it to him because he's a Muggle!" Fred said indignantly.

"No, we gave it to him because he's a great bullying git," George said. "Isn't he, Harry, Chey?"

"Yeah, he is, Mr. Weasley," Harry and I said earnestly.

"That's not the point!" Mr. Weasley raged. "You wait until I tell your mother -"

"Tell me what?" a voice behind us said.

Mrs. Weasley had just entered the kitchen. She was a short, plump woman with a very kind face, though her eyes were presently narrowed with suspicion.

"Oh hello, Harry, Cheyenne, dears," she said, spotting us and smiling. Then her eyes snapped back to her husband. 'Tell me _what_, Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley hesitated. Harry and I could tell that, however angry he was with Fred and George, he hadn't really intended to tell Mrs. Weasley what had happened. There was a silence, while Mr. Weasley eyed his wife nervously. Then two girls appeared in the kitchen doorway behind Mrs. Weasley. One, with very bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth, was Harry, Ron, and my friend, Hermione Granger. The other, who was small and red-haired, was Ron's younger sister, Ginny. Both of them smiled at Harry and I, and we grinned back, which made Ginny go scarlet - she had been very taken with Harry ever since our first visit to the Burrow.

"Tell me _what_, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley repeated, in a dangerous sort of voice.

"It's nothing, Molly," Mr. Weasley mumbled, "Fred and George just - but I've had words with them -"

"What have they done this time?" Mrs. Weasley said. "If it's got anything to do with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes -"

"Why don't you show Harry and Chey where they'll be sleeping, Ron?" Hermione said from the doorway.

"They know where they'll be sleeping," Ron said. "Harry will be in my room, like last time and Chey'll be with you and Gin -"

"We can all go," Hermione siad pointedly.

"Oh," Ron said, cottoning on. "Right."

"Yeah, we'll come too," George said.

_"You stay where you are!"_ Mrs. Weasley snarled.

Harry took my hand and we edged out of the kitchen after Ron, and we, Hermione, and Ginny set off along the narrow hallway and up the rickety staircase that zigzagged through the house to the upper stories.

"What are Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" Harry and I asked as we climbed.

Ron and Ginny both laughed, although Hermione didn't.

"Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning Fred and George's room," Ron said quietly. "Great long price lists for stuff they've invented. Joke stuff, you know. Fake wands and trick sweets, loads of stuff. It was brilliant, I never knew they'd been inventing all that..."

"We've been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were actually _making_ things," Ginny said. "We thought they just liked the noise."

"Only, most of the stuff - well, all of it, really - was a bit dangerous," Ron said, "and, you know, they were planning to sell it at Hogwarts to make some money, and Mum went mad at them. Told them they weren't allowed to make any more of it, and burned all the order forms...She's furious at them anyway. They didn't get as many O.W.L.s as she expected."

O.W.L.s were Ordinary Wizarding Levels, the examinations Hogwarts students took at the age of fifteen.

"And then there was this big row," Ginny said, "because Mum wants them to go into the Ministry of Magic like Dad, and they told her all they want to do is open a joke shop."

Just then a door on the second landing opening, and a face poked out wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a very annoyed expression.

"Hi, Percy," Harry said.

"Oh hello, Harry, Cheyenne," Percy said. "I was wondering who was making all the noise. I'm trying to work in here, you know - I've got a report to finish for the office - and it's rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs."

"We're not _thundering_," Ron said irritably. "We're walking. Sorry if we've disturbed the top-secret workings of the Ministry of Magic."

"What are you working on?" I asked.

"A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Percy said smugly. "We're trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin - leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year -"

"That'll change the world, that report will," Ron said. "Front page of the _Daily Prophet,_ I expect, cauldron leaks."

Percy went slightly pink.

"You might sneer, Ron," he said heatedly, "but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might well find the market flooded with flimsy, shallow-bottomed products that seriously endanger -"

"Yeah, yeah, all right," Ron said, and he started off upstairs again. Percy slammed his bedroom door shut. As Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and I followed Ron up three more flights of stairs, shouts from the kitchen below echoed up to us. It sounded as though Mr. Weasley had told Mrs. Weasley about the toffees.

The room at the top of the house were Ron slept looked much as it had the last time that Harry and I had come to stay: the same posters of Ron's favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, were whirling and waving on the walls and sloping ceiling, and the fish tank on the windowsill, which had previously held frog spawn, now contained one extremely large frog. Ron's old rat, Scabbers, was here no more, but instead there was the tiny gray owl that had delivered Ron's letter to Harry and I in Privet Drive. It was hopping up and down in a small cage and twittering madly.

"Shut _up_, Pig," Ron said, edging his way between two of the four beds that had been squeezed into the room. "Fred and George are in here with us, because Bill and Charlie are in their room," he told Harry and myself. "Percy gets to keep his room all to himself because he's got to _work_."

"Er - why are you calling that owl Pig?" Harry and I asked Ron.

"Because he's being stupid," Ginny said. "Its proper name is Pigwidgeon."

"Yeah, and that's not a stupid name at all," Ron said sarcastically. "Ginny named him," he explained to Harry and I. "She reckons it's sweet. And I tried to change it, but it was too late, he won't answer to anything else. So now he's Pig. I've got to keep him up here because he annoys Errol and Hermes. He annoys me too, come to that."

Pigwidgeon zoomed happily around his cage, hooting shrilly. Harry and I glanced at each other, both knowing Ron too well to take him seriously. He had moaned continually about his old rat, Scabbers, but had been most upset when Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, appeared to have eaten him.

"Where _is_ Crookshanks?" Harry asked Hermione now.

"Out in the garden, I expect," she said. "He likes chasing gnomes. He's never seen any before."

"Percy's enjoying work, then?" I said, sitting down on one of the beds and watching the Chudley Cannons zooming in and out of the posters on the ceiling.

"Enjoying it?" Ron said darkly. "I don't reckon he'd come home if Dad didn't make him. He's obsessed. Just don't get him onto the subject of his boss. _According to Mr. Crouch...as I was saying to Mr. Crouch...Mr. Crouch is of the opinion...Mr. Crouch was telling me_...They'll be announcing their engagement any day now."

"Have you had a good summer, Harry, Chey?" Hermione asked. "Did you both get our food parcels and everything?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot," Harry said. "They saved our lives, those cakes."

"And have either of you heard from -?" Ron began, but at a look from Hermione he fell silent. Harry and I knew Ron had been about to ask abotu Sirius. Ron and Hermione had been so deeply involved in helping Sirius escape from the Ministry of Magic that they were almost as concerned about my and Harry's godfather as we were. However, discussing him in front of Ginny was a bad idea. Nobody by ourselves and Dumbledore knew about how Sirius had escaped, or believed in his innocence.

"I think they've stopped arguing," Hermione said, to cover the awkward moment, because Ginny was looking curiously from Ron to Harry to me. "Shall we go down and help your mum with dinner?"

"Yeah, all right," Ron said. The five of us left Ron's room and went back downstairs to find Mrs. Weasley alone in the kitchen, looking extremely bad-tempered.

"We're eating out in the garden," she said when we came in. "There's just no room for twelve people in here. Could you take the plates outside, girls? Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables. Knives and forks, please, you two," she said to Ron and Harry, pointing her wand a little more vigorously than she had intended at a pile of potatoes in the sink, which shot out of their skins so fast that they riochered off the walls and ceiling.

"Oh for heaven's _sake_," she snapped, now directing her wand at a dustpan, which hopped off the sideboard and started skating across the floor, scooping up the potatoes. "Those two!" she burst out savagely, now pulling pots and pans out of a cupboard, and I knew right away she was talking about Fred and George. "I don't know what's going to happen to them, I really don't. No ambition, unless you count making as much trouble as they possibly can..."

Mrs. Weasley slammed a large copper saucepan down on the kitchen table and began to wave her wand around inside it. A creamy sauce poured from the wand tip as she stirred.

"It's not as though they haven't got brains," she continued irritably, taking the saucepan over to the stove and lighting it with a further poke of her wand, "but they're wasting them, and unless they pull themselves together soon, they'll be in real trouble. I've had more owls from Hogwarts about them then the rest put together. If they carry on the way they're going, they'll end up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office."

Mrs. Weasley jabbed her wand at the curlery drawer, which shot open. Harry and Ron both jumped out of the way as several knives soared out of it, flew across the kitchen, and began chopping the potatoes, which had just been tipped back into the sink by the dustpan.

"I don't know where we went wrong with them," Mrs. Weasley said, putting down her wand and starting to pull out still more saucepans. "It's been the same for years, one thing after another, and they won't listen to - OH NOT _AGAIN_!"

She had picked up her wand from the table, and it emitted a loud squeak and turned into a giant rubber mouse.

"One of their fake wands again!" she shouted. "How many times have I told them not to leave them lying around?"

She grabbed her real wand and turned around to find that the sauce on the stove was smoking.

"C'mon," Ron said hurriedly to Harry, each seizing a handful of cutlery as I seized the plates, "let's go and help Bill and Charlie."

We left Mrs. Weasley and headed out the back door into the yard.

We had only gone a few paces when Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, Crookshanks, came pelting out of the garden, bottlebrush tail held high in the air, chasing what looked like a muddy potato on legs. Harry and I recognized it instantly as a gnome. Barely ten inches high, its horny little feet pattered very fast as it sprinted across the yard and dived headlong into one of the Wellington boots that lay scattered around the door. I could hear the gnome giggling madly as Crookshanks inserted a paw into the boot, trying to reach it. Meanwhile, a very loud crashing noise was coming from the other side of the house. The source of the commotion was revealed as we entered the garden, and saw that Bill and Charlie both had their wands out, and were making two battered old tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other, each attempting to knock the other's out of the air. Fred and George were cheering, Ginny was laughing, and Hermione was hovering near the hedge, apparently torn between amusement and anxiety.

Bill's table caught Charlie's with a huge bang and knocked one of its legs off. There was a clatter from overhead, and we all looked up to see Percy's head poking out of a window on the second floor.

"Will you keep it down?" he bellowed.

"Sorry, Perce," Bill said, grinning. "How're the cauldron bottoms coming on?"

"Very badly," Percy said peevishly, and he slammed the window shut. Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely onto the grass, end to end, and then, with a flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg and conjured tablecloths from nowhere.

By seven o'clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and I were settling ourselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky. To a couple of people who had been living on meals of increasingly stale cake all summer, this was paradise, and at first, Harry and I listened rather than talked as we helped ourselves to chicken and ham pie, boiled potatoes, and salad.

At the far end of the table, Percy was telling his father all about his report on cauldron bottoms.

"I've told Mr. Crouch that I'll have it ready by Tuesday," Percy was saying pompously. "That's a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he'll be grateful I've done it in good time, I mean, it's extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We're just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman -"

"I like Ludo," Mr. Weasley said mildly. "He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favor: His brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble - a lawnmower with unnatural powers - I smoothed the whole thing over."

"Oh Bagman's _likable_ enough, of course," Percy said dismissively, "but how he ever got to be Head of Department...when I compare him to Mr. Crouch! I can't see Mr. Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what's happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?"

"Yes, I was asking Ludo about that," Mr. Weasley said, frowning. "He says Bertha's gotten lost plenty of times before now - though I must say, if it was someone in my department, I'd be worried..."

"Oh Bertha's _hopeless_, all right," Percy said. "I hear she's been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she's worth...but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr. Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr. Crouch was quite fond of her - but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However" - Percy heaved an impressive sigh and took a deep swig of elderflower wine - "we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other deprtments too. As you know, we've got another big event to organize right after the World Cup."

Percy cleared his throat significantly and looked down toward the end of the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were sitting. "_You_ know the one I'm talking about, Father." He raised his voice slightly. "The top-secret one."

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered to Harry, Hermione, and I, "He's been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons."

In the middle of the table, Mrs. Weasley was arguing with Bill about his earring, which seemed to be a recent acquisition.

"...with a horrible great fang on it. Really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?"

"Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure," Bill said patiently.

"And your hair's getting silly, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, fingering her wand lovingly. "I wish you'd let me give it a trim..."

"I like it," Ginny and I said, then caught each other's eye and giggled together. "You're so old-fashioned, Mum. Anyway, it's nowhere near as long as Professor Dumbledore's..."

Next to Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Charlie were all talking spiritedly about the World Cup.

"It's got to be Ireland," Charlie said thickly, through a mouthful of potato. "They flattened Peru in the semifinals."

"Bulgaria has Viktor Krum, though," Fred said.

"Krum's one decent player, Ireland has got seven," Charlie said shortly. "I wish England had got through. That was embarrassing, that was."

"What happened?" Harry and I asked eagerly, regretting more than ever our isolation from the wizarding world when we were stuck on Privet Drive.

"Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten," Charlie said gloomily. "Shocking performance. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg."

Harry and I had been on the Gryffindor House Quidditch team ever since our first year at Hogwarts and owned two of the best racing brooms in the world, Firebolts. Flying came more naturally to us than anything else in the magical world, and we played in the position of Seeker and Helper on the Gryffindor House team.

Mr. Weasley conjured up candles to light the darkening garden before we had our homemade strawberry ice cream, and by the time we had finished, moths were fluttering low over the table, and the warm air was perfumed with the smells of grass and honeysuckle. Harry and I were feeling extrememly well fed and at peace with the world as we watched several gnomes sprinting through the rosebushes, laughing madly and closely pursued by Crookshanks. I slowly leaned my head against his shoulder, feeling close to sleep. A loose arm wrapped around my shoulders and I sighed softly.

Ron looked carefully up the table to check that the rest of the family were all busy talking, then he said very quietly to Harry and I, "So - _have_ you two heard from Sirius lately?"

Hermione looked around, listening closely.

"Yeah," Harry said softly, "twice. He sounds okay. We wrote to him yesterday. He might write back while we're here."

We suddenly remembered the reason we had written to Sirius, and for a moment were on the verge of telling Ron and Hermione about our scars hurting again, and about the dream that had awoken us...but we really didn't want to worry them just now, not when we ourselves were feeling so happy and peaceful.

"Look at the time," Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, checking her wristwatch. "You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you - you'll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup. Harry, Cheyenne, if you leave your school lists out, I'll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley. I'm getting everyone else's. There might not be time after the World Cup, the match went on for five days last time."

"Wow - hope it does this time!" I said enthusiastically, suddenly feeling more awake.

"Well, I certainly don't," Percy said sanctimoniously. "I _shudder_ to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I was away from work for five days."

"Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?" Fred said.

"That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!" Percy said, going very red in the face. "It was nothing _personal_!"

"It was," Fred whispered to Harry and I as we got up from the table. "We sent it."


	6. The Portkey

**Chapter Six**

**The Portkey**

I felt as though I had barely lain down to sleep in Ginny's room when I was being shaken awake by Mrs. Weasley.

"Time to go, Cheyenne, dear," she whispered, moving away to wake Ginny and Hermione.

I felt around for my glasses and slid them on as I sat up. It was still dark outside. I could hear Ginny mutter indistinctly as her mother roused her. Next to me, I could see a large, disheveled shape disappearing under tangles of blankets.

I flopped back onto my pillow sleepily and grumbled that it was too early as I pulled the blanket over my head again, just wanting to go back to sleep. Suddenly, I could feel a pair of feet touch the blankets on my mattress and then shuffle past. A stifled yawn sounded from overhead.

"Chey...Her-Her-Hermione...it's...time to get...up..." Ginny's voice reached me through my blankets and I pulled the covers off so I could see her properly.

"Five more minutes!" I groaned, rolling over and pulling the blankets over my head again.

"Come on...M-M-Mum'll...just...come back to get us...if we don't get downstairs..." Ginny yawned and I could hear her pulling some drawers open nearby.

Sighing deeply and kicking the blankets off, I sat up, shaking the bangs from my eyes and rubbing the sleep away, knowing she was right. The figure next to me shifted and Hermione's disheveled form reappeared as she pushed herself to her feet, yawning and stretching. I followed suit and, yawning widely, started to get dressed.

Before long, Mrs. Weasley came bustling back into the room and encouraged us to hurry up as she folded up the blankets and put them away for later use. She helped us dress and pack a few last things for our trip before ushering us out of the room and downstairs.

We shuffled into the kitchen.

"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ginny said, rubbing her eyes and sitting down at the table.

"We've got a bit of a walk," Mr. Weasley said. He was wearing what appeared in to be a golfing sweater and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt.

"Walk?" Harry said. "What, are we walking to the World Cup?"

"No, no, that's miles away," Mr. Weasley said, smiling. "We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup-"

"George!" Mrs. Weasley said sharply, and we all jumped.

"What?" George said, in an innocent tone that deceived nobody.

"What is that in your pocket?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't you lie to me!"

Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, _"Accio!"_

Several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George's pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand.

"We told you to destroy them!" Mrs. Weasley said furiously, holding up what was unmistakably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

It was un unpleasant scene; the twins had evidently been trying to smuggle as many toffees out of the house as possible, and it was only by using her Summoning Charm that Mrs. Weasley managed to find them all.

_"Accio! Accio! Accio!"_ she shouted, and toffees zoomed from all sorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket and the turn-ups of Fred's jeans.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother as she threw the toffees away.

"Oh a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!"

All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as we took our departure. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr. Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her.

"Well, have a lovely time," Mrs. Weasley said, "and _behave yourselves,"_ she called after the twins' retreating backs, but they did not look back or answer. "I'll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy along around midday," Mrs. Weasley said to Mr. Weasley, as he, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and I set off across the dark yard after Fred and George.

It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to our right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. Harry and I, having been thinking about thousands of wizards speeding toward the Quidditch World Cup, sped up to walk with Mr. Weasley.

"So how _does_ everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?" we asked.

"It's been a massive organizational problem," Mr. Weasley sighed. "The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up at the World Cup, and of course, we just haven't got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can't penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizard into Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters. So we had to find a nice deserted moor, and set up as many anti-Muggle precautions as possible. The whole Ministry's been working on it for months. First, of course, we have to stagger the arrivals. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeks beforehand. A limited number use Muggle transport, but we can't have too many clogging up their buses and trains - remember, wizards coming from all over the world. Some Apparate, of course, but we have to set up safe points for them to appear, well away from Muggles. I believe there's a handy wood they're using as the Apparition point. For those who don't want to Apparte, or can't, we use Portkeys. They're objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do large groups at a time if you need to. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up at the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that's where we're headed."

Mr. Weasley pointed ahead of us, where a large black mass rose beyond the village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

"What sort of objects are Portkeys?" Harry and I asked curiously.

"Well, they can be anything," Mr. Weasley said. "Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles don't go picking them up and playing with them...stuff they'll just think is litter..."

We trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by our footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as we made our way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. My hands and feet were freezing. Mr. Weasley kept checking his watch.

We didn't have breath to spare for talking as we began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping in thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath I took was sharp in my chest and my legs were starting to seize up when, at last, my feet found level ground.

"Whew," Mr. Weasley panted, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. "Well, we've made good time - we've got ten minutes..."

Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side.

"Now we just need the Portkey," Mr. Weasley said, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big...Come on..."

We spread out, searching. We had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rent the still air.

"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!"

Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

"Amos!" Mr. Weasley said, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of us followed.

Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old boot in his other hand.

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," Mr. Weasley said. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"

Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quiddich team at Hogwarts.

"Hi," Cedric said, looking around at us all.

Everyone said hi back except Fred and George, who merely nodded. They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating our team, Gryffindor, in the first Quidditch match of the previous year. Fred, almost instinctfully, moved to stand in front of me, watching Cedric closely.

"Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked.

"Not too bad," Mr. Weasley said. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"

"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still...not complaining...Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons - and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy..." Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and myself. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Oh no, only the redheads," Mr. Weasley said, pointing out his children. "This is Hermione, friend of Ron's - and Harry and Cheyenne, another couple of friends -"

"Merlin's beard," Amos Diggory said, his eyes widening. "Harry? Cheyenne? Harry _Potter_ and Cheyenne _Power_?"

"Er - yeah," Harry and I said.

Harry and I were used to people looking curiously at us when they met us, used to the way their eyes moved at once to the lightning scars on our foreheads, but it always made us feel uncomfortable.

"Ced's talked about you two, of course," Amos Diggory said. "Told us all about playing against you last year...I said to him, I said - Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will..._You beat the legandary P-team!"_

Neither Harry nor I could think of any reply to this, so we remained silent. Fred and George were both scowling again. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed.

"Harry and Cheyenne fell off their brooms, Dad," he muttered. "I told you...it was an accident..."

"Yes, but _you_ didn't fall off, did you?" Amos roared genially, slapping his son on his back. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman...but the best man won, I'm sure Harry and Cheyenne'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? Two fall off their brooms, one stays on, you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!"

"Must be nearly time," Mr. Weasley said quickly, pulling out his watch again. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Pawcetts couldn't get tickets," Mr. Diggory said. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," Mr. Weasley said. "Yes, it's a minute off...We'd better get ready..."

He looked around at Harry, Hermione, and I.

"You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do -"

With difficulty, owing to our bulky backpacks, the ten of us crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory.

We all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to Harry and I how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now...ten people, two of them grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semidarkness, waiting...

"Three..." Mr. Weasley muttered, one eye still on his watch; I felt Harry take my hand, Fred wrap an arm around my waist, "two...one..."

It happened immediately: I felt as though a hook just behind my navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. My feet left the ground; I could feel Harry and Fred on either side of me, their shoulders banging into mine; we were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; my forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling me magnetically onward and then -

My feet slammed into the ground and my legs buckled; I lost grip on Harry's hand and stumbled into Fred's chest and we fell onto the grass; the Portkey hit the ground near us with a heavy thud.

I lifted my head from Fred's chest. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, and Cedric were still standing, though looking very windswept; everyone else was on the ground.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," a voice said.


	7. Bagman and Crouch

**Chapter Seven**

**Bagman and Crouch**

I gently pried myself from Fred's grip and got to my feet, helping him up as well. We had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of us was a pair of tried and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.

"Morning, Basil," Mr. Weasley said, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; I could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football.

"Hello there, Arthur," Basil said wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some...We've been here all night...You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five-fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite...Weasley...Weasley..." He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory...second field...ask for Mr. Payne."

"Thanks, Basil," Mr. Weasley said, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.

We set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Harry and I could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. We said good-bye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage door.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Harry and I knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard our footsteps, he turned his head to look at us.

"Morning!" Mr. Weasley said brightly.

"Morning," the Muggle said.

"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"

"Aye, I would," Mr. Roberts said. "And who're you?"

"Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," Mr. Roberts said, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," Mr. Weasley said.

"You'll be paying now, then?" Mr. Roberts said.

"Ah - right - certainly -" Mr. Weasley said. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry and I toward him. "Help me," he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. "This one's a - a - a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now...So this is a five?"

"A twenty," Harry corrected him in an undertone as I helped Mr. Weasley peel more of the notes apart and seperate them into a couple of piles in our hands to know what we had to pay. We were uncomfortably aware of Mr. Roberts trying to catch every word.

"Ah yes, so it is...I don't know, these little bits of paper..."

"You foreign?" Mr. Roberts asked as Mr. Weasley returned with the correct notes.

"Foreign?" Mr. Weasley repeated, puzzled.

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," Mr. Roberts said, scrutinizing Mr. Weasley closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"Did you really?" Mr. Weasley said nervously.

Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change.

"Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up..."

"Is that right?" Mr. Weasley said, his hand held out for his change, but Mr. Roberts didn't give it to him.

"Aye," he said thoughtfully. "People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking 'round in a kilt and a poncho."

"Shouldn't he?" Mr. Weasley asked anxiously.

"It's like some sort of...I dunno...like some sort of rally," Mr. Roberts said. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Roberts's front door.

_"Obliviate!"_ he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.

Instantly, Mr. Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Harry and I recognized the symptoms of one who had just had his memory modified.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said placidly to Mr. Weasley. "And your change."

"Thanks very much," Mr. Weasley said.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied us toward the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted: His chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered to Mr. Weasley, "Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur."

He Disapparated.

"I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports," Ginny said, looking surprised. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"

"He should," Mr. Weasley said, smiling, and led us through the gates into the campsite, "but Ludo's always been a bit...well..._lax_ about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic Head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."

We trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Harry and I could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on we passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attatched, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.

"Always the same," Mr. Weasley said, smiling. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."

We had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read **WEEZLY**.

"Couldn't have a better spot!" Mr. Weasley said happily. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult...Muggles do it all the time...Here, Harry, Cheyenne, where do you two reckon we should start?"

Neither Harry nor I had ever been camping in our lives; the Dursleys had never taken us on any kind of holiday, preferring to leave us with Mrs. Figg, an old neighbor. However, we and Hermione worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, because he got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, we finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents.

All of us stood back to admire our handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards, I thought, but the trouble was that once Bill, Charlie, and Percy arrived, we would be a party of ten. Hermione and Harry seemed to have spotted this problem too; they gave me, and then each other a quizzically look as Mr. Weasley dropped to his hands and knees and entered the first tent.

"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

I bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt my jaw drop. I had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Oddly enough, it was furnished in exactly the same sort of style as Mrs. Figg's house: There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and there was a strong smell of cats.

"Well, it's not for long," Mr. Weasley said, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk beds that stood in the bedroom. "I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago."

He picked up the dusty kettle and peered inside it. "We'll need water..."

"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron, who followed Harry inside the tent and seemed completely unimpressed by its extraordinary inner proportions. "It's on the other side of the field."

"Well, why don't you, Harry, Hermione, and Cheyenne go and get us some water then" - Mr. Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans - "and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire?"

"But we've got an oven," Ron said. "Why can't we just -"

"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" Mr. Weasley said, his face shining with anticipation. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!"

After a quick tour of the girl tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys, though without the smell of cats, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.

Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, we could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. We made our way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It was only just dawning on Harry and I how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; we had never really thought much about those in other countries.

Our fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; neither Harry nor I had ever seen witches and wizards this young before. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As we drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent.

"_How_ many times, Kevin? You _don't - touch - Daddy's - wand - _yecchh!"

She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after us on the still air, mingling with the little boy's yells - "You bust slug! You bust slug!"

A short way farther on, we saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls' toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I he muttered distractedly, "In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose -"

Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn't work. Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents that read: **THE SALEM WITCHES' INSTITUTE.** Harry and I caught snatches of conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents we passed, and though we couldn't understand a word, the tone of every single voice was excited.

"Er - is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" Ron asked.

It wasn't just Ron's eyes. We had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind us, we heard our names.

"Harry! Cheyenne! Ron! Hermione!"

It was Seamus Finnigan, our fellow Gryffindor fourth year. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.

"Like the decorations?" Seamus asked, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" Mrs. Finnigan said. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over _their_ tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she added, eyeing Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I beadily. When we had assured her that we were indeed supporting Ireland, we set off again, though, as Ron said, "Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot."

"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling over their tents?" Hermione said.

"Let's go and have a look," Harry said, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag - white, green, and red - was fluttering in the breeze.

The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was, of course, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl.

"Krum," Ron said quietly.

"What?" Hermione and I asked.

"Krum!" Ron said. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"

"He looks really grumpy," Hermione said, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at us.

_" 'Really grumpy'?" _Ron raised his eyes to the heavens. "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a _genius_, you wait until tonight, you'll see."

There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pinstriped trousers and almost crying with exasperation.

"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious -"

"I bought this in a Muggle shop," the old wizard said stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."

"Muggle _women_ wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear _these_," the Ministry wizard said, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.

"I'm not putting them on," old Archie said in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."

Hermione was overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles at this point that she had to duck out of the queue and only returned when Archie had collected his water and moved away. I, meanwhile, heated up in the face and neck, and buried my face in Harry's shirt as though I'd just embarrassed myself. Harry wrapped a free arm around me and patted my back reassuringly. I only looked up again when Hermione returned, wanting to be sure it was safe.

Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, we made our way back through the campsite. Here and there, we saw more familiar faces; other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, the old Captain of my and Harry's House Quidditch team, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry and I over to his parents' tent to introduce us, and told us excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemore United reserve team. Next we were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, and a little farther on we saw Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Harry, who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back. To help Harry out and keep Ron from smirking, I quickly pointed out a large group of teenagers whom we had never seen before. Harry smiled thankfully at me as Ron turned to look.

"Who d'you reckon they are?" I said. "They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?"

" 'Spect they go to some foreign school," Ron said. "I know there are others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had a penfriend at a school in Brazil...this was years and years ago...and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His penfriend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up."

Harry and I laughed but didn't voice the amazement we felt at hearing about other wizarding schools. We supposed, now that we saw representatives of so many nationalities in the campsite, that we had been stupid never to realize that Hogwarts couldn't be the only one. We glanced at Hermione, who looked utterly unsurprised by the information. No doubt she had run across the news about other wizarding schools in some book or another.

"You've been ages," George said when we finally got back to the Weasleys' tents.

"Met a few people," Ron said, setting the water down. "You not got that fire started yet?"

"Dad's having fun with the matches," Fred said.

Mr. Weasley was having no success at all in lighting the fire, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but he looked as though he was having the time of his life.

"Oops!" he said as he managed to light a match and promptly dropped it in surprise.

"Come here, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly.

At last we got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while we waited, however. Our tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for my, Harry, and Hermione's benefit; his own children knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested.

"That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office...Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms; he's had those horns for a while now...Hello, Arnie...Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator - member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know...and that's Bode and Croaker...they're Unspeakables..."

"They're what?"

"From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to..."

At last, the fire was ready, and we had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie, and Percy came strolling out of the woods toward us.

"Just Apparated, Dad," Percy said loudly. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"

We were halfway through our plates of eggs and sausages when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward us. "Aha!" he said. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person Harry and I had seen so far, even including old Archie in his flowered nightdress. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England. His nose was squashed (probably broken by a stray Bludger, Harry and I though, exchanging glances), but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy.

"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He was walking as though he had springs attached to the balls of his feet and was plainly in a state of wild excitement.

"Arthur, old man," he puffed as he reached the campfire, "what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming...and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements...Not much for me to do!"

Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire that was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.

Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him from wanting to make a good impression.

"Ah - yes," Mr. Weasley said, grinning, "this is my son Percy. He's just started at the Ministry - and this is Fred - no, George, sorry - _that's _Fred, next to his girlfriend - Bill, Charlie, Ron - my daughter, Ginny - and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and Cheyenne Power."

Bagman did the smallest of double takes when he heard my and Harry's names, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upward to the scars on each of our foreheads.

"Everyone," Mr. Weasley continued, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets -"

Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing.

"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" he said eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes. "I've already go Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first - I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years - and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match."

"Oh...go on then," Mr. Weasley said. "Let's see...a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

"A Galleon?" Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. "Very well, very well...any other takes?"

"They're a bit young to be gambling," Mr. Weasley said. "Molly wouldn't like -"

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," Fred said as he and George quickly pooled all their money, "that Ireland wins - but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll throw in a fake wand."

"You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that -" Percy hissed, but Bagman didn't seem to think the wand was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter.

"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"

Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval.

"Boys," Mr. Weasley said under his breath, "I don't want you betting...That's all your savings...Your mother -"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" Ludo Bagman boomed, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to knkow what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chanch, boys, not a chance...I'll give you excellent odds on that one...We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we..."

Mr. Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.

"Cheers," George said, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away into the front of his robes. Bagman turned most cheerfully back to Mr. Weasley.

"Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages."

"Mr. Crouch?" Percy said, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll..."

"Anyone can speak Troll," Fred said dismissively. "All you have to do is point and grunt."

Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look and stroked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to a boil.

"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asked as Bagman settled himself down on the grass beside us all.

"Not a dicky bird," Bagman said comfortably. "But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha...memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it's still July."

"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" Mr. Weasley suggested tentatively as Percy handed Bagman his tea.

"Barty Crouch keeps saying that," Bagman said, his round eyes widening innocently, "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh - talk of the devil! Barty!"

A wizard had just Apparated at our fireside, and he could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman, sprawled on the grass in his old Wasp robes. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short gray hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush mustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were very highly polished. Harry and I could see at once why Percy idolized him. Percy was a greay believer in rigidly following rules, and Mr. Crouch had complied with the rule about Muggle dressing so thoroughly that he could have passed for a bank manager. Harry and I doubted even Uncle Vernon would have spotted him for what he really was.

"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," Ludo said brightly, patting the ground beside him.

"No thank you, Ludo," Crouch said, and there was a bite of impatience in his voice. "I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box."

"Oh is _that_ what they're after?" Bagman said. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."

"Mr. Crouch!" Percy said breathlessly, sinking into a kind of half-bow that made him look like a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Oh," Crouch said, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes - thank you, Weatherby."

Fred and George choked into their own cups. I hid a smile behind mine. Percy, very pink around the ears, busied himself with the kettle.

"Oh and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur," Mr. Crouch said, his sharp eyes falling upon Mr. Weasley. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."

Mr. Weasley heaved a deep sigh.

"I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: Carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"

"I doubt it," Mr. Crouch said, accepting a cup from Percy. "He's desparate to export here."

"Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" Bagman said.

"Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," Mr. Crouch said. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve - but that was before carpets were banned, of course."

He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by law.

"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" Bagman said breezily.

"Fairly," Mr. Crouch said dryly. "Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo."

"I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?" Mr. Weasley said.

Ludo Bagman looked shocked.

"Glad! Don't know when I've had more fun...Still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organize, eh?"

Mr. Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman.

'We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details -"

"Oh details!" Bagman said, waving the word away like a cloud of midges. "They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts -"

"Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know," Mr. Crouch said sharply, cutting Bagman's remarks short. "Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."

He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise; Bagman struggled to his feet, swigging down the last of his tea, the gold in his pockets chinking merrily.

"See you all later!" he said. "You'll be up in the Top Box with me - I'm commentating!" He waved. Barty Crouch nodded curtly, and both of them Disapparated.

"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" Fred said at once. "What were they talking about?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Mr. Weasley said, smiling.

"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it," Percy said stiffly. "My. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it."

"Oh shut up, Weatherby," Fred said.

A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretence disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.

Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes - green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria - which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this," Ron told Harry and I as we and Hermione strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Though Ron purchased a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him.

"Wow, look at these!" Harry said, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials.

"Omnioculars," the saleswizard said eagerly. "You can reply action...slow everything down...and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain - ten Galleons each."

"Wish I hadn't bought this now," Ron said, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.

"Four pairs," Harry and I said firmly to the wizard.

"No - don't bother," Ron said, going red. He was always touchy about the fact that Harry and I, both of whom had inherited a small fortune from both our parents, had much more money than he did.

"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Monioculars into his hands. I handed Hermione her pair. "For about ten years, mind."

"Fair enough," Ron said, grinning.

"Oooh, thanks, Harry, Chey," Hermione said. "And I'll get us some programs, look -"

Our money bags considerably lighter, we went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.

"It's time!" Mr. Weasley said, looking as excited as any of us. "Come on, let's go!"


	8. The Quidditch World Cup

**Chapter Eight**

**The Quidditch World Cup**

Clutching our purchases, Mr. Weasley in the lead, we all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. We could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around us, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; I couldn't stop grinning. We walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last we emerged on the other side and found ourselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though Harry and I could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, we could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.

"Seats a hundred thousand," Mr. Weasley said, spotting the awestruck look on our faces. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash off again...bless them," he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" the Ministry witch at the entrance said when she checked our tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. We clambered upward wtih the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to our left and right. Mr. Weasley's party kept climbing, and at last we reached the top of the staircase and found ourselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harry and I, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which we could never have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from our lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite us, almost at my and Harry's eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, we saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field.

_The Bluebottle: A broom for All the Family - safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burglar Buzzer...Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No pain, No Stain!...Gladrags Wizardwear - London, Paris, Hogsmeade..._

I finally tore my eyes away from the sign and looked over my shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with us. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind us. The creature, whose legs were so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearing a tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long, batlike ears were oddly familiar...

_"Dobby?"_ Harry and I asked incredulously.

The tiny creature looked up and stretched its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. It wasn't Dobby - it was, however, unmistakably a house-elf, as my and Harry's friend Dobby had been. Harry and I had set Dobby free from his old owners, the Malfoy family.

"Did sir and miss just call me Dobby?" squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers. Its voice was higher even than Dobby's had been, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and Harry and I suspected - though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf - that this one might just be female. Ron and Hermione spung around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry and myself, they had never actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley and Fred looked around in interest.

"Sorry," Harry told the elf, "We just thought you were someone we knew."

"But I knows Dobby too, sir!" the elf squeaked. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is Winky, sir - and you, sir, and your miss -" Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon my, then Harry's scars. "You is surely Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power!"

"Yeah, we are," Harry and I said.

"But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir and miss!" she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck.

"How is he?" I asked softly. "How's freedom suiting him?"

"Ah, miss," Winky said, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir and miss, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir and miss, when you is setting him free."

"Why?" Harry said, taken aback. "What's wrong with him?"

"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir," Winky said sadly. "Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir!"

"Why not?" I asked.

Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, _"He is wanting paying for his work, miss."_

"Paying?" Harry and I said blankly. "Well - why shouldn't he be paid?"

Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again.

"House-elves is not paid, sir and miss!" she said in a muffled squeak. "No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir and miss, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."

"Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun," Harry said.

"House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter," Winky said firmly, from behind her hands. "House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter" - she glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped - "but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir and miss."

"Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" I asked, frowning.

"Master - master wants me to save him a seat, Cheyenne Power. He is very busy," Winky said, tilting her head toward the empty space beside her. "Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf."

She gave the edge of the box another frightened look and hid her eyes completely again. Harry and I turned back to the others.

"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered. "Weird things, aren't they?"

"Dobby was weirder," Harry and I said fervently.

Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down into the crowd on the other side of the stadium.

"Wild!" he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again...and again...and again..."

Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvet-covered, tasseled program.

" 'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,' " she read aloud.

"Oh that's always worth watching," Mr. Weasley said. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

The box filled gradually around us over the next half hour. Mr. Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry and I, both of whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like an couple of old friends. We had met before, and Fudge shook my and Harry's hands in a fatherly fashion, asked how we were, and introduced us to the wizards on either side of him.

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, you know," he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English. _"Harry Potter...Cheyenne Power..._oh come on now, you know who they are...the duo who survived You-Know-Who...you _do_ know who they are -"

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted my and Harry's scars and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at them.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," Fudge said wearily to Harry and I. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat...Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places...ah, and here's Lucius!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I turned quickly. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley was none other than Dobby the house-elf's former owners: Lucius Malfoy; his son, Draco; and a woman Harry and I supposed must be Draco's mother.

Harry and I had been enemies with Draco Malfoy since our very first journey to Hogwarts. A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. His mother was blonde too; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.

"Ah, Fudge," Mr. Malfoy said, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" Fudge said, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr. - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

It was a tense moment. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy looked at each other and Harry and I vividly recalled the last time they had come face-to-face: It had been in Flourish and Blotts bookshop, and they had had a fight. Mr. Malfoy's cold gray eyes swept over Mr. Weasley, and then up and down the row.

"Good lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a _very_ generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"How - how nice," Mr. Weasley said, with a very strained smile.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Harry and I knew exactly what was making Mr. Malfoy's lip curl like that. The Malfoys prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered everyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father.

"Slimy gits," Ron muttered as he, Harry, Hermione, and I turned to face the field again. Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box.

"Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming like a great excited Edam. "Minister - ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," Fudge said comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said _"Sonorus!"_ and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over us, booming into every corner of the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen...welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite us was wiped clear of its last message _(Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans - A Risk With Every Mouthful!) _and now showed **BULGARIA: O, IRELAND: O.**

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce...the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

"I wonder what they've brought," Mr. Weasley said, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. _"Veela!"_

"What are veel -?"

But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and Harry's question was answered for him. Veela were woman...the most beautiful women we'd ever seen...except that they weren't - they couldn't be - human. This puzzled me for a moment while I tried to guess what exactly they could be; what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind. Music began playing then and from either side of me, I could hear the boys inhale sharply.

The veela had started to dance. I glanced at the boys around me, first at Harry, then Fred. They looked like their minds had been erased of all thought and it almost looked blissful. It looked like they had not a care in the world, other than the veela dancing down on the field, and like if the veela stopped dancing, the world was going to end...

The veela danced faster and faster, and I could see half-formed thoughts whizzing through the boys minds. I could see Harry wanting to do something really impressive, right now, just to impress the veela. I watched as my best friend stood and started toward the edge of the box, looking ready to jump right into the stadium. I could feel Fred standing and moving after him. I grabbed his arm and yanked him back into his chair, then moved to sit on his lap to keep him anchored.

"HARRY!" I yelled after him, hoping to snap him out of it. The music stopped and I could feel Fred shake himself. Harry had one of his legs resting on the wall of the box. Ron was next to him, frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard.

Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go. I could see Harry was with them; he looked to be questioning why he had a large green shamrock pinned to his chest as he seemed to be switching who he wanted to support. Ron, meanwhile, was absentmindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat. Mr. Weasley, smiling slightly, leaned over to Ron and tugged the hat out of his hands.

"You'll be wanting that," he said, "once Ireland have had their say."

"Huh?" Ron said, staring openmouthed at the veela, who had now lined up along one side of the field.

Hermione made a loud tutting noise. She reached up and pulled Harry back into his seat. _"Honestly!"_ she said.

"And now," Ludo Bagman's voice roared, "kindly put your wands in the air...for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it -

"Excellent!" Ron yelled as the shamrock soared over us, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off our heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrock, I realized that it was actually comprised of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

"Leprechauns!" Mr. Weasley said over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold.

"There you go," Ron yelled happily, stuffing a fistful of gold coins into my and Harry's hands, "for the Omnioculars! Now you've both got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!"

The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaaand - _Krum_!"

"That's him, that's him!" Ron yelled, following Krum with his Omnioculars. Harry and I quickly focused our own.

Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen.

"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Bagman yelled. "Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaaand - _Lynch_!"

Seven green blurs swept onto the field; I spun a small dial on the side of my Omnioculars and slowed the players down enough to read the world "Firebolt" on each of their brooms and see their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a mustache to rival Uncle Vernon's, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. I spun the speed dial on my Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and (I saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" Bagman screamed. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

It was Quidditch as neither Harry nor I had ever seen it played before. We were pressing our Omnioculars so hard to our glasses that they were cutting into the bridges of our noses. The speed of the players was incredible - the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. I spun the slow dial on the right of my Omnioculars again, pressed the play-by-play button on the top, and I was immediately watching in slow motion, while glittering purple lettering flashed across the lenses and the noise of the crowd pounded against my eardrums.

_**Hawkshead Attacking Formation**_, I read as I watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, bearing down upon the Bulgarians. _**Porskoff Ploy**_ flashed up next, as Troy made as though to dart upward with the Quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova and dropping the Quaffle to Moran. One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, swung hard at a passing Bludger with his small club, knocking it into Moran's path; Moran ducked to avoid the Bludger and dropped the Quaffle; and Levski, soaring beneath, caught it -

"TROY SCORES!" Bagman roared, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheeres. "Ten zero to Ireland!"

"What?" Harry yelled suddenly and I pulled my Omnioculars away from my eyes to see him looking wildly around in his. "But Levski's got the Quaffle!"

"Harry, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" Hermione shouted, dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air while Troy did a lap of honor around the field. Harry looked quickly over the top of his Omnioculars in time to see the leprechauns watching from the sidelines had all risen into the air again and formed the great, glittering shamrock. Across the field, the veela were watching them sulkily.

Looking furious with himself, Harry spun his speed dial back to normal as play resumed. I did the same.

Harry and I knew enough about Quidditch to see that the Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosette on Harry's chest kept squeaking their names: _"Troy - Mullet - Moran!"_ And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the green-glad supporters.

The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria's first goal.

"Fingers in your ears!" Mr. Weasley bellowed as the veela started to dance in celebration. I covered Fred's ears for him and he closed his eyes too, wanting to keep his mind on the game. After a few seconds, we dared a glance at the field. The veela had stopped dancing, and Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh I say!" Bagman roared.

One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes. Harry and I followed their descent through our Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was -

"They're going to crash!" Hermione screamed from Harry's other side.

She was half right - at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

"Fool!" Mr. Weasley moaned. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time-out!" Bagman's voice yelled, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course..."

Harry and I hastily pressed the replay and play-by-play buttons on our Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dials, and put them back up to our eyes.

We watched as Krum and Lynch dived again in slow motion. _**Wronski Defensive Feint - Dangerous Seeker Diversion**_ read the shining purple lettering across our lenses. We saw Krum's face contorted with concentration as he pulled out of the dive just in time, while Lynch was flattened, and we understood - Krum hadn't seen the Snitch at all, he was just making Lynch copy him. Neither Harry nor I had ever seen anyone fly like that; Krum hardly looked as though he was using a broomstick at all; he moved so easily through the air that he looked unsupported and weighless. Harry and I turned our Omnioculars back to normal and focused them on Krum. He was now circling high above Lynch, who was being revived by mediwizards with cups of potion. Harry and I, focusing still more closely upon Krum's face, saw his dark eyes darting all over the ground a hundred feet below. He was using the time while Lynch was revived to look for the Snitch without interference.

Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything either Harry or I had seen so far.

After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was started to get dirtier.

As Mullet shot toward the goat posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Whatever happened was over so quickly neither Harry nor I caught it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast, told us it had been a foul.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing - excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informed the roaring spectators. "And - yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words "HA, HA, HA!" The veela on the other side of the field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again.

As one, the Weasley boys and Harry stuffed their fingers into their ears, but Hermione and I, who hadn't bothered, were soon tugging on Harry and Fred's arms. They turned to look at us, and we pulled their fingers impatiently out of their ears.

"Look at the referee!" we said, giggling.

Harry and Fred looked down at the field. Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing veela, and was acting very oddly indeed. He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly.

"Now, we can't have that!" Ludo Bagman said, though he sounded highly amused. "Somebody slap the referee!"

A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself; Harry and I, watching through our Omnioculars again, saw that he looked exceptionally embarrassed and had started shouting at the veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking mutinous.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!" Bagman's voice said. "Now _there's_ something we haven't seen before...Oh this could turn nasty..."

It did: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words "HEE, HEE, HEE." Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarian's arguments, however; he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle.

_"Two_ penalties for Ireland!" Bagman shouted, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. "And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms...yes...there they go...and Troy takes the Quaffle..."

Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything we had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

_"Foul!"_ the Irish supporters roared as one, all standing up in a great wave of green.

"Foul!" Ludo Bagman's magnified voice echoed. "Dimitrov skins Moran - deliberately flying to collide there - and it's got to be another penalty - yes, there's the whistle!"

The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed at the veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through the Omnioculars, Harry and I saw that they didn't look remotely beautiful now. On the countrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders -

"And _that_, boys," Mr. Weasley yelled over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"

"I agree. I go for personality, looks are a bouns." Fred said, grinning at me. My face heated up and I stuck my tongue out at him.

Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the veela and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one taking place above. Harry and I turned this way and that, staring through our Omnioculars, as the Quaffle changed hands with the speed of a bullet.

"Levski - Dimitrov - Moran - Troy - Mullet - Ivanova - Moran again - Moran - MORAN SCORES!"

But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. The game recommenced immediately; now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov -

The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face.

There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and Harry and I couldn't blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.

Harry and I wanted someone to realize that Krum was injured; even though we were supporting Ireland, Krum was the most exciting player on the field. Ron obviously felt the same.

"Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him -"

_"Look at Lynch!"_ Harry yelled.

For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and I knew Harry was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint. I agreed; this was the real thing...

"He's seen the Snitch!" I shouted. "He's seen it! Look at him go!"

Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on...but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, neither Harry nor I had any idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again -

"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked.

"They're not!" Ron roared.

"Lynch is!" Harry and I yelled.

And we were right - for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" Charlie bellowed, along the row.

"He's got it - Krum's got it - it's all over!" Harry and I shouted.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard was flashing **BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170** across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS - good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellowed, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. "He ended it when Ireland was a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. "The Irish Chasers were too good...He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all..."

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess..."

Harry and I put our Omnioculars to our eyes again. It was hard to see what was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but we could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful shelves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," a gloomy voice said behind Harry. He and I looked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

"You can speak English!" Fudge said, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Vell, it vos very funny," the Bulgarian minister said, shrugging.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" Bagman roared.

My eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, I saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he'd been using sign language all day for nothing.

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers - Bulgaria!" Bagman shouted.

And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively; Harry and I could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in our direction.

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. Harry and I noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, earsplitting roar.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connonlly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval. My hands were numb from clapping.

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, _"Quietus."_

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that...shame it couldn't have lasted longer...Ah yes...yes, I owe you...how much?"

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.


	9. The Dark Mark

**Chapter Nine**

**The Dark Mark**

_"Don't_ tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr. Weasley implored Fred and George as we all made our way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs.

"Don't worry, Dad," Fred said gleefully, "we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated."

Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know.

We were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward us on the night air as we retraced our steps along the latern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over our heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When we finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around us, Mr. Weasley agreed that we could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. We were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr. Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed. Hermione, Ginny, and I went into the next tent. We changed into our pajamas and clambered into our bunks. From the other side of the campsite we could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang.

I lay on the bunk above Hermione, staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, watching the glow of an occasional leprechaun lantern flying overhead, and picturing again some of Krum's more spectacular moves. I was itching to get back on my own Firebolt and help Harry try out the Wronski Feint...Somehow Oliver Wood had never managed to convey with all his wriggling diagrams what that move was supposed to look like...I could just see myself and Harry in robes that had our names on the backs, and imagined the sensation of hearing a hundred-thousand-strong crowd roar, as Ludo Bagman's voice echoed throughout the stadium, "I give you..._Potter and Power!"_

I never knew whether or not I had actually dropped off to sleep - my fantasies of flying like Krum might well have slipped into actual dreams - all I knew was that, quite suddenly, Mr. Weasley was shouting.

"Ginny, come on, get us. Hermione - Cheyenne - come on now, get up, this is urgent!"

I sat bolt upright in fright, hitting the top of my head against the canvas.

"911!? Injured, what's going on?" I said, jumping off my bed and landing on the floor, worried that one of the others was hurt. Almost immediately I knew something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. I could hear screams, and the sound of people running. I grabbed my jeans and pulled my wand out before I snagged my jacket. Judging by Mr. Weasley's tone, I knew I didn't have time to do much else. Mr. Weasley himself had pulled on his jeans over his own pajamas and he was just telling Ginny there wasn't time to change. "Come on girls, just grab a jacket and get outside - quickly!"

Doing as we were told, we hurried out of the tent, Mr. Weasley at our heels.

By the light of the few fires that were still burning, I could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward us, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward us; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. I squinted at them...They didn't seem to have faces...Then I realized that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisble strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small.

"Come on girls, this way, quickly." Mr. Weasley said, ushering us toward Harry and Ron, who stood outside the boys' tent. Pulling on our jackets, we hurried toward them. I ran into Harry and hugged him, trembling. He wrapped his arms around me, rubbing my back. At that moment, Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the boys' tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and their wands out.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. "You lot - get into the woods, and _stick together_. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already sprinting away toward the oncoming marchers; Mr. Weasley tore after them. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the figures was coming ever closer.

"C'mon," Fred said, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. Ron, Hermione, George, Harry, and I followed. We all looked back as we reached the trees. The crowd beneath the figures was larger than ever; we could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the figures fall.

The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around us in the cold night air. I could feel myself and my best friend being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces we could not see. Then we heard Ron yell in pain.

"What happened?" Hermione asked anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry and I walked into her. "Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid - _Lumos_!"

She illuminated her wand and directed its narrow beam across the path. Ron was lying sprawled on the ground.

"Tripped over a tree root," he said angrily, getting to his feet again.

"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," a drawling voice said from behind us.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I turned sharply. Draco Malfoy was standing alone nearby, leaning against a tree looking utterly relaxed. His arms folded, he seemed to have been watching the scene at the campsite through a gap in the trees.

Ron told Malfoy to do something that Harry and I knew he would never have dared say in front of Mrs. Weasley.

"Language, Weasley," Malfoy said, his pale eyes glittering. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like _her_ spotted, would you?"

He nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around us.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked defiantly.

"Granger, they're after _Muggles_," Malfoy said. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around...they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."

"Hermione's a witch," Harry snarled.

"Yeah, more of a witch than you'll _ever_ be, Malfoy." I growled lowly, eyes narrowing.

"Have it your own way, Powter," Malfoy said, grinning maliciously. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."

"You watch your mouth!" Ron shouted. Everybody present knew that "Mudblood" was a very offensive term for a witch or wizard of Muggle parentage.

"Never mind, Ron," Hermione said quickly, seizing Ron's arm to restrain him as he took a step toward Malfoy.

There came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything we had heard. Several people nearby screamed. Malfoy chuckled softly.

"Scare easily, don't they?" he said lazily. "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to - trying to rescue the Muggles?"

"Where're _your_ parents?" Harry said and I could hear his temper rising. "Out there wearing masks, are they?"

Malfoy turned his face to Harry, still smiling.

"Well...if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"

"Oh come on," Hermione said, with a disgusted look at Malfoy, "let's go and find the others."

"Keep that big bushy head down, Granger," Malfoy sneered.

"Come _on_," Hermione repeated. I gently tugged Harry up the path again, Hermione pulling Ron after us.

"I'll bet you anything his dad _is_ one of that masked lot!" Ron said hotly.

"Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him!" Hermione said fervently. "Oh I can't believe this. Where have the others got to?"

Fred, George, and Ginny were nowhere to be seen, though the path was packed with plenty of other people, all looking nervously over their shoulders toward the commotion back at the campsite. A huddle of teenagers in pajamas was arguing vociferously a little way along the path. When they saw Harry, Ron, Hermione, and myself, a girl with thick curly hair turned and said quickly, _"Ou est Madame Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue -"_

"Er - what?" Ron asked.

"Oh..." The girl who had spoken turned her back on him, and as we walked on we distinctly heard her say, 'Ogwarts."

"Beauxbatons," Hermione muttered.

"Sorry?" Harry said.

"They must go to Beauxbatons," Hermione said. "You know...Beauxbatons Academy of Magic...I read about it in _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_."

"Oh...yeah...right," Harry said.

"Fred and George can't have gone that far," Ron said, pulling out his wand, lighting it like Hermione's, and squining up the path. I pulled mine out and lit it as well as Harry dug into the pockets of his jacket for his own wand - but he only ended up pulling out his Omnioculars.

"Ah, no, I don't believe it...I've lost my wand!"

"You're kidding!"

Ron, Hermione, and I raised our wands high enough to spread the narrow beams of light farther on the ground; Harry looked all around him, but his wand was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe it's back in the tent," Ron said.

"Maybe it fell out of your pocket when we were running?" Hermione suggested anxiously.

"Yeah Harry, it's go to be around, you'll find it," I said, knowing it had to be somewhere around here.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Maybe..."

I knew he usually kept his wand with him at all times in the wizarding world, and that when he found himself without it in the midst of a scene like this, it made him feel very vulnerable. I always felt the same way.

A rustling noise nearby made all four of us jump. Winky the house-elf was fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. She was moving in a most peculiar fashion, apparently with great difficulty; it was as though someone invisible were trying to hold her back.

"There is bad wizards about!" she squeaked distractedly as she leaned forward and labored to keep running. "People high - high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way!"

And she disappeared into the trees on the other side of the path, panting and squeaking as she fought the force that was restraining her.

"What's up with her?" Ron asked, looking curiously after Winky. "Why can't she run properly?"

"Bet she didn't ask permission to hide," Harry and I said. We were thinking of Dobby: Every time he had tried to do something the Malfoys wouldn't like, the house-elf had been forced to start beating himself up.

"You know, house-elves get a _very_ raw deal!" Hermione said indignantly. "It's slavery, that's what it is! That Mr. Crouch made her go up to the top of the stadium, and she was terrified, and he's got her bewitched so she can't even run when they start trampling tents! Why doesn't anyone _do_ something about it?"

"Well, the elves are happy, aren't they?" Ron said. "You heard old Winky back at the match...'House-elves is not supposed to have fun'...that's what she likes, being bossed around..."

"It's people like _you_, Ron," Hermione began hotly, "who prop up rotten and unjust systems, just because they're too lazy to -"

"Maybe Ron's right, Hermione...it does seem to be their nature...it'd be like what happened with our aunt and uncle...remember Harry? They tried to stop us from learning magic and being the witch and wizard we are now." I cut in quickly, knowing this was going to get really ugly, really fast.

Another loud bang echoed from the edge of the wood.

"Let's just keep moving, shall we?" Ron said, and Harry and I saw him glance edgily at Hermione. Perhaps there was truth in what Malfoy had said; perhaps Hermione _was_ in more danger than we were. We set off again, Harry still searching his pockets, even though he knew his wand wasn't there.

We followed the dark path deeper into the wood, still keeping an eye out for Fred, George, and Ginny. We passed a group of goblins who were cackling over a sack of gold that they had undoubtedly won betting on the match, and who seemed quite unperturbed by the trouble at the campsite. Farther still along the path, we walked into a patch of silvery light, and when we looked through the trees, we saw three tall and beautiful veela standing in a clearing, surrounded by a gaggle of young wizards, all of whom were talking very loudly.

"I pull down about a hundred sacks of Galleons a year!" one of them shouted. "I'm a dragon killer for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures."

"No, you're not!" yelled his friend. "You're a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron...but I'm a vampire hunter, I've killed about ninety so far -"

A third young wizard, whose pimples were visible even by the dim, silvery light of the veela, now cut in, "I'm about to become the youngest ever Minister of Magic, I am."

Harry and I snorted with laughter. We recognized the pimply wizard: His name was Stan Shunpike, and he was in fact a conductor on the triple-decker Knight Bus. We turned to tell Ron this, but Ron's face had gone oddly slack, and next second Ron was yelling, "Did I tell you I've invented a broomstick that'll reach Jupiter?"

_"Honestly!"_ Hermione said, and she and Harry grabbed Ron firmly by the arms, wheeled him around, and marched him away. By the time the sounds of the veel and their admirers had faded completely, we were in the very heart of the wood. We seemed to be alone now; everything was much quieter.

Harry looked around. "I reckon we can just wait here, you know. We'll hear anyone coming a mile off."

The words were hardly out of his mouth, when Ludo Bagman emerged from behind a tree right ahead of us.

Even by the feeble light of the three wands, Harry and I could see that a great change had come over Bagman. He no longer looked buoyant and rosy-faced; there was no more spring in his step. He looked very white and strained.

"Who's that?" he said, blinking down at us, trying to make out our faces. "What are you doing in here, all alone?"

We looked at one another, surprised.

"Well - there's a sort of riot going on," Ron said.

Bagman stared at him.

"What?"

"At the campsite...some people have got hold of a family of Muggles..."

Bagman swore loudly.

"Damn them!" he said, looking quite distracted, and without another word, he Disapparated with a small _pop_!

"Not exactly on top of things, Mr. Bagman, is he?" Hermione said, frowning.

"He was a great Beater, though," Ron said, leading the way off the path into a small clearing, and sitting down on a patch of dry grass at the foot of a tree. "The Wimbourne Wasps won the league three times in a row while he was with them."

He took his small figure of Kurm out of his pocket, set it down on the ground, and watched it walk around. Like the real Krum, the model was slightly duck-footed and round-shouldered, much less impressive on his splayed feet than on his broomstick. Harry and I were listening for noise from the campsite. Everything seemed much quieter; perhaps the riot was over.

"I hope the others are okay," Hermione said after a while.

"They'll be fine," Ron said.

"Imagine if your dad catches Lucius Malfoy," Harry said, sitting down next to Ron and watching the small figure of Krum slouching over the fallen leaves. I leaned against the tree next to him. "He's always said he'd like to get something on him."

"That'd wipe the smirk off old Draco's face, all right," Ron said.

"Those poor Muggles, though," Hermione said nervously. "What if they can't get them down?

"They will," Ron said reassuringly. "They'll find a way."

"Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic's out here tonight!" Hermione said. "I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they've been drinking, or are they just -"

But she broke off abruptly and looked over her shoulder. I pushed off from the tree and stood straight as Harry and Ron looked quickly around too. It sounded as though someone was staggering toward our clearing. We waited, listening to the sounds of the uneven steps behind the dark trees. But the footsteps came to a sudden halt.

"Hello?" Harry and I called.

There was silence. Harry got to his feet and we peered around the tree. It was too dark to see very far, but we could sense somebody standing just beyond the range of our vision. Harry pulled me back and pushed me behind him, and I could see the protective line of his shoulders.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

And then, without warning, the silence was rent by a voice unlike any we had heard in the wood; and it uttered, not a panicked shout, but what sounded like a spell.

_"MORSMORDRE!"_

And something vast, green, and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness my and Harry's eyes had been struggling to penetrate; it flew up over the treetops and into the sky.

"What the -?" Ron gasped as he sprang to his feet again, staring up at the thing that had appeared.

For a split second, Harry and I thought it was another leprechaun formation. Then we realized that it was a colossal skull, comprised of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As we watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation.

Suddenly, the wood all around us erupted with screams. Neither Harry nor I understood why, but the only possible cause was the sudden appearance of the skull, which had now risen high enough to illuminate the entrie wood like some grisly neon sign. We scanned the darkness for the person who had conjured the skull, but we couldn't see anyone.

"Who's there?" he called again.

"Harry, Chey, come on, _move_!" Hermione had seized the collars of my and Harry's jackets and was tugging us backward.

"What's the matter?" I asked, startled to see Hermione's face so white and terrified.

"It's the Dark Mark, Chey!" she moaned, pulling us as hard as she could. "You-Know-Who's sign!"

_"Voldemort's -?"_

"Chey, come _on_!"

Harry and I turned - Ron was hurriedly scooping up his miniature Krum - the four of us started across the clearing - but before we had taken a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding us.

Harry and I whirled around, and in an instant, we registered one fact: Each of these wizards had his wand out, and every wand was pointing right at us, Ron, and Hermione.

Without pausing to think, we yelled "DUCK!"

I launched forward and tackled Hermione to the ground, and a second later, Ron and Harry joined us.

_"STUPEFY!"_ roared twenty voices - there was a blinding series of flashes and I felt the hair on my head ripple as though a powerful wind had swept the clearing. Raising my head a fraction of an inch I saw jets of fiery red light flying over us from the wizards' wands, crossing one another, bouncing off tree trunks, rebounding into the darkness -

"Stop!" yelled a voice we recognized. "STOP! _That's my son!"_

My hair stopped blowing about. I raised my head a little higher. The wizard in front of us had lowered his wand. Rolling off Hermione, I saw Mr. Weasley striding toward us, looking terrified.

"Ron - Harry" - his voice sounded shaky - "Hermione - Cheyenne - are you all right?"

"Out of the way, Arthur," said a cold, curt voice.

It was Mr. Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on us. Harry got to his feet to face them and I scrambled up beside him, but he wrapped an arm around my waist and pushed me behind him. Mr. Crouch's face was taut with rage.

"Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between us. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

"We didn't do that!" Harry said, gesturing up at the skull.

"We didn't do anything!" Ron said, who was rubbing his elbow and looking indignantly at his father. "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Do not lie, sir!" Mr. Crouch shouted. His wand was still pointing directly at Ron, and his eyes were popping - he looked slightly mad. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Barty," whispered a witch in a long woolen dressing grown, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to -"

"Where did the Mark come from, you four?" Mr. Weasley asked quickly.

"Over there," Hermione said shakily, pointing at the place where we had heard the voice. "There was someone behind the trees...they shouted words - an incantation -"

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" Mr. Crouch said, turning his popping eyes on Hermione now, disbelief etched all over his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy -"

But none of the Ministry wizards apart from Mr. Crouch seemed to think it remotely likely that Harry, Ron, Hermione, or I had conjured the skull; on the contrary, at Hermione's words, they had all raised their wands again and were pointing in the direction she had indicated, squinting through the dark trees.

"We're too late," said the witch in the woolen dressing gown, shaking her head. "They'll have Disapparated."

"I don't think so," said a wizard with a scrubby brown beard. It was Amos Diggory, Cedric's father. "Our Stunners went right through those trees...There's a good chance we got them..."

"Amos, be careful!" said a few of the wizards warningly as Mr. Diggory squared his shoulders, raised his wand, marched across the clearing, and disappeared into the darkness. Hermione watched him vanish with her hands over her mouth; I clutched Harry's arm.

A few seconds later, we heard Mr. Diggory shout.

"Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's - but - blimey..."

"You've got someone?" Mr. Crouch shouted, sounding highly disbelieving. "Who? Who is it?"

We heard snapping twigs, the rustling of leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Mr. Diggory reemerged from behind the trees. He was carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. Harry and I recognized the tea towel at once. It was Winky.

Mr. Crouch did not move or speak as Mr. Diggory deposited his elf on the ground at his feet. The other Ministry wizards were all staring at Mr. Crouch. For a few seconds Crouch remained transfixed, his eyes blazing in his white face as he stared down at Winky. Then he appeared to come to life again.

"This - cannot - be," he said jerkily. "No -"

He moved quickly around Mr. Diggory and strode off toward the place where he had found Winky.

"No point, Mr. Crouch," Mr. Diggory called after him. "There's no one else there."

But Mr. Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it. We could hear him moving around and the rustling of leaves as he pushed the bushes aside, searching.

"Bit embarrassing," Mr. Diggory said grimly, looking down at Winky's unconscious form. "Barty Crouch's house-elf...I mean to say..."

"Come off it, Amos," Mr. Weasley said quietly, "you dont seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah," Mr. Diggory said, "and she _had_ a wand."

_"What?"_ Mr. Weasley said.

"Here, look." Mr. Diggory held up a wand and showed it to Mr. Weasley. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. _No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."_

Just then there was another _pop_, and Ludo Bagman Apparated right next to Mr. Weasley. Looking breathless and disorientated, he spun on the spot, goggling upward at the emerald-green skull.

"The Dark Mark!" he panted, almost trampling Winky as he turned inquiringly to his colleagues. "Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What's going on?"

Mr. Crouch had returned empty-handed. His face was still ghostly white, and his hands and his toothbrush mustache were both twitching.

"Where have you been, Barty?" Bagman asked. "Why weren't you at the match? You elf was saving you a seat too - gulping gargoyles!" Bagman had just noticed Winky lying at his feet. "What happened to _her_?"

"I have been busy, Ludo," Mr. Crouch said, still talking in the same jerky fashion, barely moving his lips. "And my elf has been stunned."

"Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why -?"

Comprehension dawned suddenly on Bagman's round, shiny face; he looked up at the skull, down at Winky, and then at Mr. Crouch.

_"No!"_ he said. "Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand, for a start!"

"And she had one," Mr. Diggory said. "I found her holding one, Ludo. If it's all right with you, Mr. Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself."

Crouch gave no sign that he had heard Mr. Diggory, but Mr. Diggory seemed to take his silence for assent. He raised his own wand, pointed it at Winky, and said, _"Ennervate!"_

Winky stirred feeble. Her great brown eyes opened and she blinked several times in a bemused sort of way. Watched by the silent wizards, she raised herself shakily into a sitting position. She caught sight of Mr. Diggory's feet, and slowly, tremulously, raised her eyes to stare up into his face; then, more slowly still, she looked up into the sky. Harry and I could see the floating skull reflected twice in her enormous, glassy eyes. She gave a gasp, looked wildly around the crowded clearing, and burst into terrified sobs.

"Elf!" Mr. Diggory said sternly. "Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"

Winky began to rock backward and forward on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Harry and I were reminded forcibly of Dobby in his moments of terrified disobedience.

"As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago," Mr. Diggory said. "And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explaination, if you please!"

"I - I - I is not doing it, sir!" Winky gasped. "I is not knowing how, sir!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" Mr. Diggory barked, brandishing it in front of her. And as the wand caught the green light that was filling the clearing from the skull above, I recognized it at the same second as Harry.

"Hey - that's mine!" he said.

Everyone in the clearing looked at him.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Diggory said, incredulously.

"That's Harry's wand!" I said quickly. "He dropped it!"

"He dropped it?" Mr. Diggory repeated in disbelief. "Is this a confession? He threw it aside after he conjured the Mark? And how would you know? Did you help him?"

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" Mr. Weasley said, very angrily. "Is _Harry Potter_ or _Cheyenne Power_ likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

"Er - of course not," Mr. Diggory mumbled. "Sorry...carried away..."

"I didn't drop it there, anyway," Harry said, jerking his thumb toward the trees beneath the skull. "I missed it right after we got into the wood."

"So," Mr. Diggory said, his eyes hardening as he turned to look at Winky again, cowering at his feet. "You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?"

"I is not doing magic with it, sir!" Winky squeaked, tears streaming down the sides of her squashed and bulbous nose. "I is...I is...I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!"

"It wasn't her!" Hermione said. She looked very nervous, speaking up in front of all these Ministry wizards, yet determined all the same. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" She looked around at Harry, Ron, and I, appealing for our support. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"

"No," Harry and I said, looking at each other and shaking our heads. "It definitely didn't sound like an elf."

"Yeah, it was a human voice," Ron said.

"Well, we'll soon see," Mr. Diggory growled, looking unimpressed. "There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?"

Winky trembled and shook her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr. Diggory raised his own wand again and placed it tip to tip with Harry's.

_"Prior Incantato!"_ Mr. Diggory roared.

Harry and I heard Hermione gasp, horrified, as a gigantic serpent-tongued skull erupted from the point where the two wands met, but it was a mere shadow of the green skull high above us; it looked as though it were made of thick gray smoke: the ghost of a spell.

_"Deletrius!"_ Mr. Diggory said with a kind of savage triumph, looking down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively.

"I is not doing it!" she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!"

_"You've been caught red-handed, elf!"_ Mr. Diggory roared. _"Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!"_

"Amos," Mr. Weasley said loudly, "think about it...precious few wizards know how to do that spell...Where would she have learned it?"

"Perhaps Amos is suggesting," Mr. Crouch said, cold anger in every syllable, "that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?"

There was a deeply unpleasant silence. Amos Diggory looked horrified. "Mr. Crouch...not...not at all..."

"You have now come very close to accusing the three people in this clearing who are _least_ likely to conjure that Mark!" Mr. Crouch barked. "Harry Potter, Cheyenne Power - and myself! I suppose you are familiar with the couple's story, Amos?"

"Of course - everyone knows -" Mr. Diggory muttered, looking highly discomforted.

"And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practice them?" Mr. Crouch shouted, his eyes bulging again.

"Mr. Crouch, I - I never suggested you had anything to do with it!" Amos Diggory muttered again, now reddening behind his scrubby brown beard.

"If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!" Mr. Crouch shouted. "Where else would she have learned to conjure it?"

"She - she might've picked it up anywhere -"

"Precisely, Amos," Mr. Weasley said. _"She might have picked it up anywhere_...Winky?" he said kindly, turning to the elf, but she flinched as though he too was shouting at her. "Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"

Winky was twisting the hem of her tea towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers.

"I - I is finding it...finding it there, sir..." she whispered, "there...in the trees, sir..."

"You see, Amos?" Mr. Weasley said. "Whoever conjured the Mark, could have Disapparated right after they'd done it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up."

"But then, she'd have been only a few feet away from the real culprit!" Mr. Diggory said impatiently. "Elf? Did you see anyone?"

Winky began to tremble worse than ever. Her giant eyes flickered from Mr. Diggory, to Ludo Bagman, and onto Mr. Crouch. Then she gulped and said, "I is seeing no one, sir...no one..."

"Amos," Mr. Crouch said curtly, "I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her."

Mr. Diggory looked as though he didn't think much of this suggestion at all, but it was clear to Harry and I that Mr. Crouch was such an important member of the Ministry that he did not dare refuse him.

"You may rest assured that she will be punished," Mr. Crouch added coldly.

"M-m-master..." Winky stammered, looking up at Mr. Crouch, her eyes brimming with tears. "M-m-master, p-p-please..."

Mr. Crouch stared back, his face somehow sharpened, each line upon it more deeply etched. There was no pity in his gaze.

"Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible," he said slowly. "I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. _This means clothes._"

"No!" Winky shrieked, prostrating herself at Mr. Crouch's feet. "No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!"

Harry and I looked at each other once more, knowing that the only way to turn a house-elf free was to present it with proper garments. It was pitiful to see the way Winky clutched at her tea towel as she sobbed over Mr. Crouch's feet.

"But she was frightened!" Hermione burst out angrily, glaring at Mr. Crouch. "Your elf's scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of their way!"

Mr. Crouch took a step backward, freeing himself from contact with the elf, whom he was surveying as though she were something filthy and rotten that was contaminating his over-shined shoes.

"I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me," he said coldly, looking over at Hermione. "I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master's reputation."

Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing. There was a very nasty silence, which was ended by Mr. Weasley, who said quietly, "Well, I think I'll take my lot back to the tent, if nobody's got any objections. Amos, that wand's told us all it can - if Harry could have it back, please -"

Mr. Diggory handed Harry his wand and Harry pocketed it.

"Come on, you four," Mr. Weasley said quietly. But Hermione didn't seem to want to move; her eyes were still upon the sobbing elf. "Hermione!" Mr. Weasley said, more urgently. She turned and followed Harry, Ron, and I out of the clearing and off through the trees.

"What's going to happen to Winky?" Hermione said, the moment we had left the clearing.

"I don't know," Mr. Weasley said.

"The way they were treating her!" Hermione said furiously. "Mr. Diggory, calling her 'elf'' all the time...and Mr. Crouch! He knows she didn't do it and he's still going to sack her! He didn't care how frightened she'd been, or how upset she was - it was like she wasn't even human!"

"Well, she's not," Ron said.

Hermione rounded on him.

"That doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ron. It's disgusting the way -"

"Hermione, I agree with you," Mr. Weasley said quickly, beckoning her on, "but now is not the time to discuss elf rights. I want to get back to the tent as fast as we can. What happened to the others?"

"We lost them in the dark," Ron said. "Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?"

"I'll explain everything back at the tent," Mr. Weasley said tensely.

But when we reached the edge of the wood, our progress was impeded. A large crowd of frightened-looking witches and wizards was congregated there, and when they saw Mr. Weasley coming toward them, many of them surged forward.

"What's going on in there?"

"Who conjured it?"

"Arthur - it's not - _Him_?"

"Of course it's not Him," Mr. Weasley said impatiently. "We don't know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed."

He led Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I through the crowd and back into the campsite. All was quiet now; there was no sign of the masked wizards, though several ruined tents were still smoking.

Charlie's head was poking out of the boys' tent.

"Dad, what's going on?" he called through the dark. "Fred, George, and Ginny got back okay, but the others -"

"I've got them here," Mr. Weasley said, bending down and entering the tent. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I entered after him.

Bill was sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose. Fred, George, and Ginny looked unhurt, though shaken. As soon as Fred saw me, he jumped up and hurried forward, engulfing me in a hug and asking, breathlessly, if I was all right. I hugged him back and reassured him I was unharmed as he sat me in a chair next to him at the table.

"Did you get them, Dad?" Bill asked sharply. "The person who conjured the Mark?"

"No," Mr. Weasley said. "We found Barty Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark."

_"What?"_ Bill, Charlie, and Percy said together.

"Harry's wand?" Fred said.

_"Mr. Crouch's elf?"_ Percy said, sounding thunderstruck.

With some assistance from Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, Mr. Weasley explained what had happened in the woods. When we had finished our story, Percy swelled indignantly.

"Well, Mr. Crouch is quite right to get rid of an elf like that!" he said. "Running away when he'd expressly told her not to...embarrassing him in front of the whole Ministry...how would that have looked, if she'd been brought up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control -"

"She didn't do anything - she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!" Hermione snapped at Percy, who looked very taken aback. Hermione had always got on fairly well with Percy - better, indeed, than any of the others.

"Hermione, a wizard in Mr. Crouch's position can't afford a house-elf who's going to run amok with a wand!" Percy said pompously, recovering himself.

"Oh, come down off your high horse, she wasn't running amok," I snapped, sipping the water I'd been given. "She simply found the wand and picked it up by mistake. It's not her fault."

"Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?" Ron said impatiently. "It wasn't hurting anyone...Why's it such a big deal?"

"I told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron," Hermione said, before anyone else could answer. "I read about it in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts."_

"And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years," Mr. Weasley said quietly. "Of course people panicked...it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again."

"I don't get it," Ron said, frowning. "I mean...it's still only a shape in the sky..."

"Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed," Mr. Weasley said. "The terror it inspired...you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside..." Mr. Weasley winced. "Everyone's worst fear...the very worst..."

There was silence for a moment. Then Bill, removing the sheet from his arm to check on his cut, said, "Well, it didn't help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now."

"Death Eaters?" Harry and I said. "What are Death Eaters?"

"It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," Bill said. "I think we saw what's left of them tonight - the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway."

"We can't prove it was them, Bill," Mr. Weasley said. "Though it probably was," he added hopelessly.

"Yeah, I bet it was!" Ron said suddenly. "Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!"

"But what were Voldemort's supporters -" Harry began. Everyone flinched - like most of the wizarding world, the Weasleys always avoided saying Voldemort's name. "Sorry," Harry said quickly. "What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?"

"The point?" Mr. Weasley said with a hollow laugh. "Harry, that's their idea of fun. Half the Muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn't resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them," he finished disgustedly.

"But if they _were_ the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" Ron asked. "They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?"

"Use your brains, Ron," Bill said. "If they really were Death Eaters, they worked very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives...I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?"

"So...whoever conjured the Dark Mark..." I said slowly, "were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?"

"You guess is as good as ours, Cheyenne," Mr. Weasley said. "But I'll tell you this...it was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I'd be very surprised if the person who did it hadn't been a Death Eater once, even if they're not now...Listen, it's very late, and if your mother hears what's happened she'll be worried sick. We'll get a few more hours sleep and then try and get an early Portkey out of here."

I got back into my bunk with my head buzzing. I knew I ought to feel exhausted: It was nearly three in the morning, but I felt wide-awake - wide-awake, and worried.

Three days ago - it felt like much longer, but it had only been three days - Harry and I had awoken with our scars burning. And tonight, for the first time in thirteen years, Lord Voldemort's mark had appeared in the sky. What did these things mean?

I thought of the letter we had written to Sirius before leaving Privet Drive. Would Sirius have gotten it yet? When would he reply? I lay looking up at the canvas, but no flying fantasies came to me now to ease me to sleep, and it was a long time after Hermione and Ginny's gentle breathing filled the tent that I finally dozed off.


	10. Mayhem at the Ministry

**Chapter Ten**

**Mayhem at the Ministry**

Mr. Weasley woke us after only a few hours sleep. He used magic to pack up the tents, and we left the campsite as quickly as possible, passing Mr. Roberts at the door of his cottage. Mr. Roberts had a strange, dazed look about him, and he waved us off with a vague "Merry Christmas."

"He'll be all right," Mr. Weasley said quietly as we marched off onto the moor. "Sometimes, when a person's memory's modified, it makes him a bit diorientated for a while...and that was a big thing they had to make him forget."

We heard urgent voices as we approached the spot where the Portkeys lay, and when we reached it, we found a great number of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, all clamoring to get away from the campsite as quickly as possible. Mr. Weasley had a hurried discussion with Basil; we joined the queue, and were able to take an old rubber tire back to Stoathead Hill before the sun had really risen. We walked back through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane toward the Burrow in the dawn light, talking very little because we were so exhausted, and thinking longingly of our breakfast. As we rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the lane.

"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!"

Mrs. Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for us in the front yard, came running toward us, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the _Daily Prophet_ clutched in her hand.

"Arthur - I've been so worried - _so worried_ -"

She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, and the _Daily Prophet_ fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, Harry and I saw the headline: _SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP_, complete with a twinkling black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops.

"You're all right," Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and staring around at us all with red eyes, "you're alive...Oh _boys_..."

And to everybody's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together.

_"Ouch!_ Mum - you're strangling us -"

"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs. Weasley said, starting to sob. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough O.W.L.s? Oh Fred...George..."

"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," Mr. Weasley said soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says..."

When we were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.

"I knew it," Mr. Weasley said heavily. _"Ministry blunders...culprits not apprehended...lax security...Dark wizards running unchecked...national disgrace_...Who wrote this? Ah...of course...Rita Skeeter."

"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" Percy said furiously. "Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't _specifically_ stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans -"

"Do us a favor, Perce," Bill said, yawning, "and shut up."

"I'm mentioned," Mr. Weasley said, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the _Daily Prophet_ article.

"Where?" Mrs. Weasley spluttered, choking on her tea and whiskey. "If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!"

"Not by name," Mr. Weasley said. "Listen to this: _'If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.'_ Oh really," Mr. Weasley said in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. "Nobody _was_ hurt. What was I supposed to say? _Rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods_...well, there certainly will be rumors now she's printed that."

He heaved a deep sigh. "Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over."

"I'll come with you, Father," Percy said importantly. "Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person."

He bustled out of the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley looked most upset.

"Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office; surely they can handle this without you?"

"I've got to go, Molly," Mr. Weasley said. "I've made things worse. I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off..."

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry said suddenly, looking unable to contain himself, "Neither Hedwig nor Elon has arrived with a letter for Chey or I, have they?"

"Hedwig and Elon, dear?" Mrs. Weasley said distractedly. "No...no, there hasn't been any post at all."

Ron and Hermione looked curiously at Harry. With a meaningful look at both of them he said, "All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?"

"Yeah...think I will too," Ron said at once. "Hermione? Chey?"

"Yes," we said quickly, and the four of us marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

"What's up, Harry?" Ron asked, the moment we had closed the door of the attic room behind us.

"There's something we haven't told you," Harry said. "On Saturday morning, Chey and I woke up with our scars hurting again.

Ron's and Hermione's reactions were almost exactly as Harry and I had imagined them back in our bedroom on Privet Drive. Hermione gasped and started making suggestions at once, mentioning a number of reference books, and everybody from Albus Dumbledore to Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse. Ron simply looked dumbstruck.

"But - he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean - last time your scars kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?"

"We're sure he wasn't on Privet Drive," I said. "But we were dreaming about him...him and Peter - you know, Wormtail. Neither of us can remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill...people."

I glanced at Harry, having teetered for a moment on the verge of saying "us," but couldn't bring myself to make Hermione look any more horrified than she already did.

"It was only a dream," Ron said bracingly. "Just a nightmare."

"Yeah, but was it, though?" Harry said, turning to look out of the window at the brightening sky. "It's weird, isn't it?...Our scars hurt, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again."

"Don't - say - his - name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth.

"And remember what Professor Trelawney said?" I continued, ignoring Ron. "At the end of last year?"

Professor Trelawney was our Divination teacher at Hogwarts. Hermione's terrified look vanished as she let out a derisive snort.

"Oh, Chey, Harry, neither of you are going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?"

"You weren't there," Harry said. "You didn't hear her. This time was different. We told you, she went into a trance - a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again..._greater and more terrible than ever before_...and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him...and that night Wormtail escaped."

There was a silence in which Ron fidgeted absentmindedly with a hole in his Chudley Cannons bedspread.

"Why were you asking if Hedwig or Elon had come, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Are you expecting a letter?"

"We told Sirius about our scars," I said, shrugging. "We're waiting for his answer."

"Good thinking!" Ron said, his expression clearing. "I bet Sirius'll know what to do!"

"We hoped he'd get back to us quickly," Harry said.

"But we don't know where Sirius is...he could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn't he?" Hermione said reasonably. "Hedwig and Elon're not going to manage _that_ journey in a few days."

"Yeah, we know," Harry and I said, but there was a leaden feeling in our stomachs as we looked out of the window at the Hedwig-and-Elon-free sky.

"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry, Chey," Ron said. "Come on - three on four, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play...You can try out the Wronski Feint..."

"Ron," Hermione said, in an I-don't-think-you're-being-very-sensitive sort of voice, "Harry and Chey don't want to play Quidditch right now...They're worried, and they're tired...We all need to go to bed..."

"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," Harry said suddenly as I said I'd sit out. "Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt."

Hermione left the room, muttering something that sounded very much like _"Boys."_

Neither Mr. Weasley nor Percy was at home much over the following week. Both left the house each morning before the rest of the family got up, and returned well after dinner every night.

"It's been an absolute uproar," Percy told us importantly the Sunday evening before we were due to return to Hogwarts. "I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders."

"Why are they all sending Howlers?" Ginny said, who was mending her copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ with Spellotape on the rug in front of the living room fire.

"Complaining about security at the World Cup," Percy said. "They want compensation for their ruined property. Mungdungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks."

Mrs. Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Harry and I liked this clock. It was completely useless if you wanted to know the time, but otherwise very informative. It had nine golden hands, and each of them was engraved with one of the Weasley family's names. There were no numerals around the face, but descriptions of where each family member might be. "Home," "school," and "work" were there, but there was also "traveling," "lost," "hospital," "prison," and, in the position where the number twelve would be on a normal clock, "mortal peril."

Eight of the hands were currently pointing to the "home" position, but Mr. Weasley's, which was the longest, was still pointing to "work." Mrs. Weasley sighed.

"You father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who," she said. "They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be ruined if he doesn't come home soon."

"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?" Percy said. "If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first -"

"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!" Mrs. Weasley said, flaring up at once.

"If Dad hadn't say anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented," Bill said, who was playing chess with Ron. "Rite Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts' Charm Breakers once, and called me 'a long-haired pillock'?"

"Well, it _is_ a bit long, dear," Mrs. Weasley said gently. "If you'd just let me -"

_"No,_ Mum."

Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was immersed in _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_, copies of which Mrs. Weasley had brought for her, Harry, Ron, and I in Diagon Alley. I was sitting next to her, reading the same book, but sewing up a few holes in my robes as I read. Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava. Harry was polishing his Firebolt, the broomstick servicing kit Hermione had given him for his thirteenth birthday open at his feet. Fred and George were sitting in a far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment.

"What are you two up to?" Mrs. Weasley asked sharply, her eyes on the twins.

"Homework," Fred said vaguely.

"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," George said.

"You're not by any chance writing out a new _order form_, are you?" Mrs. Weasley said shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"

"Now, Mum," Fred said, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to kow that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"

Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh your father's coming!" she said suddenly, looking up at the clock again.

Mr. Weasley's hand had suddenly spun from "work" to "traveling"; a second later it had shuddered to a halt on "home" with the others, and we heard him calling from the kitchen.

"Coming, Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley called, hurrying out of the room.

A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted.

"Well, the fat's really in the fire now," he told Mrs. Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the hearth and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shriveled cauliflower. "Rite Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that'll be the headline in the _Prophet_ tomorrow. I _told_ Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago."

"Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks," Percy said swiftly.

"Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn't found out about Winky," Mr. Weasley said irritably. "There'd be a week's worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark."

"I thought we were all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did _not_ conjure the Mark?" Percy said hotly.

"If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky no one at the _Daily Prophet_ knows how mean he is to elves!" Hermione said angrily.

"Now look here, Hermione!" Percy said. "A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr. Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants -"

"His _slave_, you mean!" Hermione said, her voice rising passionately, "because he didn't _pay_ Winky, did he?"

"I think you'd all better go upstairs and check that you've packed properly!" Mrs. Weasley said, breaking up the argument. "Come on now, all of you..."

Harry repacked his broomstick servicing kit, put his Firebolt over his shoulder, and we followed Ron back upstairs. As I'd already packed away all my things a few days before and done it extra carefully to maximize space, I followed the boys all the way up to Ron's attic bedroom. The rain sounded even louder at the top of the house, accompanied by loud whistlings and moans from the wind, not to mention sporadic howls from the ghoul who lived in the attic. Pigwidgeon began twittering and zooming around his cage when we entered. The sight of the half-packed trunks seemed to have sent him into a frenzy of excitement.

"Bung him some Owl Treats," Ron said, throwing a packet across to Harry. "It might shut him up."

Harry poked a few Owl Treats through the bars of Pigwidgeon's cage, then turned to his trunk. Hedwig's cage stood next to it, still empty.

"It's been over a week," Harry said, looking at Hedwig's deserted perch. "Ron, you don't reckon Sirius has been caught, do you?"

"Nah, it would've been in the _Daily Prophet_," Ron said. "The Ministry would want to show they'd caught _someone_, wouldn't they?"

"Yeah, I suppose..."

"Look, here's the stuff Mum got for you in Diagon Alley. And she's got some gold out of your vault for you...and she's washed all your socks."

He heaved a pile of parcels onto Harry's camp bed and dropped the money bag and a load of socks next to it. Harry and I started unwrapping the shopping. Apart from _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4,_ by Miranda Goshawk, he had a handful of new quills, a dozen rolls of parchment, and refills for his potion-making kit - he had been running low on spine of lionfish and essence of belladonna. He was just piling underwear into his cauldron and I was folding his socks up when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind us.

"What is _that_ supposed to be?"

He was holding up something that looked to Harry and I like a long, maroon velvet dress. It had a moldy-looking lace frill at the collar and matching lace cuffs.

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley entered, carrying an armful of freshly laundered Hogwarts robes.

"Here you are," she said, sorting them into two piles. "Now, mind you pack them properly so they don't crease. And Cheyenne, dear, I already put your Hogwarts robes in Ginny's room so you can pack them away later."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley." I said, smiling thankfully at her.

"Mum, you've given me Ginny's new dress," Ron said, handing it out to her.

"Of course I haven't," Mrs. Weasley said. "That's for you. Dress robes."

_"What?"_ Ron said, looking horror-struck.

"Dress robes!" Mrs. Weasley repeated. "It says on your school list that you're supposed to have dress robes this year...robes for formal occasions."

"You've got to be kidding," Ron said in disbelief. "I'm not wearing that, no way."

"Everyone wears them, Ron!" Mr. Weasley said crossly. "They're all like that! Your father's got some for smart parties!"

"I'll go starkers before I put that on," Ron said stubbornly.

"Don't be so silly," Mrs. Weasley said. "You've got to have dress robes, they're on your list! I got some for Harry and Cheyenne too...show him, Harry..."

In some trepidation, Harry opened the last parcel on his camp bed. It wasn't as bad as we had expected, however; his dress robes didn't have any lace on them at all - in fact, they were more or less the same as his school ones, except that they were bottle green instead of black.

"I thought they'd bring out the color of your eyes, dear," Mrs. Weasley said fondly. "I got yours too, Cheyenne, but it's a darker shade to bring out the brown/green in your eyes."

"Well, that's okay!" Ron said angrily, looking at Harry's robes. "Why couldn't I have some like that?"

"Because...well, I had to get yours secondhand, and there wasn't a lot of choice!" Mrs. Weasley said, flushing.

Harry and I looked away and at each other. We would willingly have split all the money in our Gringotts vault with the Weasleys, but we knew they would never take it.

"I'm never wearing them," Ron was saying stubbornly. "Never."

"Fine," Mrs. Weasley snapped. "Go naked. And, Cheyenne, Harry, make sure one of you gets a picture of him. Goodness knows I could do with a laugh."

She left the room, slamming the door behind her. There was a funny spluttering noise from behind us. Pigwidgeon was choking on an overlarge Owl Treat.

"Why is everything I own rubbish?" Ron said furiously, striding across the room to unstick Pigwidgeon's beak.


	11. Aboard the Hogwarts Express

**Chapter Eleven**

**Aboard the Hogwarts Express**

There was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when I awoke next morning. Heavy rain was still splattering against the window as I got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt; we would change into our school robes on the Hogwarts Express.

I met with Harry, Ron, Fred, and George outside Ginny's room and followed them downstairs. We had just reached the first-floor landing on our way down to breakfast, when Mrs. Weasley appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking harassed.

"Arthur!" she called up the staircase. "Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!"

I flattened myself against the wall as Mr. Weasley came clattering past with his robes on back-to-front and hurtled out of sight. When Harry, myself and the others entered the kitchen, we saw Mrs. Weasley rummaging anxiously in the drawers - "I've got a quill here somewhere!" - and Mr. Weasley bending over the fire, talking to -

I blinked several times to be sure my eyes were working like they were supposed to.

Amos Diggory's head was sitting in the middle of the flames like a large, beareded egg. It was talking very fast, completely unperturbed by the sparks flying around it and the flames licking its ears.

"...Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what-d'you-call-'ems - please-men. Arthur, you've got to get over there -"

"Here!" Mrs. Weasley said breathlessly, pushing a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a crumpled quill into Mr. Weasley's hands.

" -it's a real stroke of luck I heard about it," Mr. Diggory's head said. "I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off - if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur -"

"What does Mad-Eye say happened?" Mr. Weasley said, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill, and preparing to take notes.

Mr. Diggory's head rolled its eyes. "Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house, but was ambushed by his dustbins."

"What did the dustbins do?" Mr. Weasley said, scribbling frantically.

"Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everyone, as far as I can tell," Mr. Diggory said. "Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up -"

Mr. Weasley groaned.

"And what about the intruder?"

"Arthur, you know Mad-Eye," Mr. Diggory's head said, rolling its eyes again. "Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there's a very shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he's had it - think of his record - we've got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department - what are exploding dustbins worth?"

"Might be a caution," Mr. Weasley said, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. "Mad-Eye didn't use his wand? He didn't actually attack anyone?"

"I'll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window," Mr. Diggory said, "but they'll have a job proving it, there aren't any casualties."

"All right, I'm off," Mr. Weasley said, and he stuffed the parchment with his notes on it into his pocket and dashed out of the kitchen again.

Mr. Diggory's head looked around at Mrs. Weasley.

"Sorry about this, Molly," it said, more calmly, "bothering you so early and everything...but Arthur's the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye's supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night..."

"Never mind, Amos," Mrs. Weasley said. "Sure you won't have a bit of toast or anything before you go?"

"Oh go on, then," Mr. Diggory said.

Mrs. Weasley took a piece of buttered toast from a stack on the kitchen table, put it into the fire tongs, and transferred it into Mr. Diggory's mouth.

"Fanks," he said in a muffled voice, and then, with a small _pop_, vanished.

Harry and I could hear Mr. Weasley calling hurried good-byes to Bill, Charlie, Percy, and the other girls. Within five minutes, he was back in the kitchen, his robes on the right way now, dragging a comb through his hair.

"I'd better hurry - you five have a good term," Mr. Weasley said to Harry, Ron, the twins, and I, fastening a cloak over his shoulders and preparing to Disapparate. "Molly, are you going to be all right taking the kids to King's Cross?"

"Of course I will," she said. "You just look after Mad-Eye, we'll be fine."

As Mr. Weasley vanished, Bill and Charlie entered the kitchen.

"Did someone say Mad-Eye?" Bill asked. "What's he been up to now?"

"He says someone tried to break into his house last night," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Mad-Eye Moody?" George said thoughtfully, spreading marmalade on his toast. "Isn't he that nutter -"

"Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody," Mrs. Weasley said sternly.

"Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn't he?" Fred said quietly as Mrs. Weasley left the room. "Birds of a feather..." I hid a smirk as I bit into my toast.

"Moody was a great wizard in his time," Bill said.

"He's an old friend of Dumbledore's, isn't he?" Charlie said.

"Dumbledore's not what you'd call _normal_, though, is he?" Fred said. "I mean, I know he's a genius and everything..."

"Who _is_ Mad-Eye?" Harry and I asked.

"He's retired, used to work at the Ministry," Charlie said. "I met him once when Dad took me in to work with him. He was in Auror - one of the best...a Dark wizard catcher," he added, seeing my and Harry's blank looks. "Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though...the families of people he caught, mainly...and I heard he's been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn't trust anyone anymore. Sees Dark wizards everywhere."

Bill and Charlie decided to come and see everyone off at King's Cross station, but Percy, apologizing more profusely, said that he really needed to get to work.

"I just can't justify taking more time off at the moment," he told us. "Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me."

"Yeah, you know what, Percy?" George said seriously. "I reckon he'll know your name soon."

Mrs. Weasley had braved the telephone in the village post office to order three ordinary Muggle taxis to take us into London.

"Arthur tried to borrow Ministry cars for us," Mrs. Weasley whispered to Harry and I as we stood in the rain-washed yard, watching the taxi drivers heaving seven heavy Hogwarts trunks into their cars. "But there weren't any to spare...Oh dear, they don't look happy, do they?"

Neither Harry nor I liked to tell Mrs. Weasley that Muggle taxi drivers rarely transported overexcited owls, and Pigwidgeon was making an earsplitting racket. Nor did it help that a number of Filibuster's Fabulous No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks went off unexpectedly when Fred's trunk sprang open, causing the driver carrying it to yell with fright and pain as Crookshanks clawed his way up the man's leg.

The journey was uncomfortable, owing to the fact that we were jammed in the back of the taxis with our trunks. Crookshanks took quite a while to recover from the fireworks, and by the time we entered London, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were all severely scratched. We were very relieved to get out at King's Cross, even though the rain was coming down harder than ever, and we got soaked carrying our trunks across the busy road and into the station.

Harry and I were used to getting onto platform nine and three-quarters by now. It was a simple matter of walking straight through the apparently solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. The only trickey part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so as to avoid attracting Muggle attention. We did it in groups today; Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I (the most conspicuous, since we were accompanied by Pigwidgeon and Crookshanks) went first; we leaned casually against the barrier, chatting unconcernedly, and slid sideways through it...and as we did so, platform nine and three-quarters materialized in front of us.

The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was already there, clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts. Pigwidgeon became noisier than ever in response to the hooting of many owls through the mist. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I set off to find seats, and were soon stowing our luggage in a compartment halfway along the train. We then hopped back down onto the platform to say good-bye to Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie.

"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," Charlie said, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye.

"Why?" Fred asked keenly.

"You'll see," Charlie said. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it...it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all."

"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," Bill said, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.

_"Why?"_ George said impatiently.

"You're going to have an interesting year," Bill said, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it..."

"A bit of _what_?" Ron asked.

But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied us toward the train doors.

"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said as we climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her.

"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," Harry and I said.

"Oh it was my pleasure, dears," Mrs. Weasley said. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but...well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with...one thing and another."

"Mum!" Ron said irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?"

"You'll find out this evening, I expect," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting - mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -"

"What rules?" Harry, Ron, Fred, and George said together.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you...Now, behave, won't you? _Won't_ you, Fred? And you, George?"

"Don't worry, Mrs. Weasley, I'll make sure they behave." I said, receiving a mock glare from Fred. I narrowed my eyes playfully back at him and pinched his cheek.

The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move.

"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred bellowd out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from us. "What rules are they changing?"

But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I went back to our compartment, Fred and George following us.

"We're gonna head down the train, and meet up with Lee. We'll sit with you at the feast." Fred told me outside our compartment. I nodded and kissed his cheek, watching him head off down the corridor with his twin before joining Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron had opened his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting.

"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily from where he sat next to Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what -"

"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her fingers to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to ours. Harry, Ron, and I listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.

"...Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually _learn_ them, not just the defense rubbish we do..."

Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice.

"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he _had_ gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him."

"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Hermione said sniffily, "and it's got a horrible reputation. According to _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts."

"I think I've heard of it," Ron said vaguely. "Where is it? What country?"

"Well, nobody knows, do they?" Hermione said, raising her eyebrows.

"Er - why not?" Harry asked.

"There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"Come off it," Ron said, starting to laugh. "Durmstrang's got to be about the same size as Hogwarts - how are you going to hide a great big castle?"

"But Hogwarts _is_ hidden," I said, in surprise. "Everyone knows that...well, everyone who's read _Hogwarts, A History,_ anyway."

"Just you two, then," Ron said. "So go on - how d'you hide a place like Hogwarts?"

"It's bewitched," Hermione said. "If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a moldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying **DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE."**

"So Durmstrang'll just look like a ruin to an outsider too?"

"There could be a good chance," I said, shrugging, "or it might have Muggle-repelling charms on it, like the World Cup stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they'll have made it Unplottable -"

"Come again?"

"Well, you can enchant a building so it's impossible to plot on a map, can't you?"

"Er...if you say so," Harry said.

"But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Somewhere very cold, because they've got fur capes as part of their uniforms."

"Ah, think of the possibilities," Ron said dreamily. "It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident...Shame his mother likes him..."

The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Harry bought a large stack of Cauldron Cakes for us to share.

Several of our friends looked in on us as the afternoon progressed, including Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom, a round-faced, extremely forgetful boy who had been brought up by his formidable witch of a grandmother. Seamus was still wearing his Ireland rosette. Some of its magic seemed to be wearing off now; it was still squeaking _"Troy - Mullet - Moran!"_ but in a very feeble and exhausted sort of way. After half an hour or so, Hermione, growing tired of the endless Quidditch talk, buried herself once more in _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_, and started trying to learn a Summoning Charm.

Neville listened jealously to our conversation as we relived the Cup match.

"Gran didn't want to go," he said miserably. "Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounded amazing though."

"It was," Ron said. "Look at this, Neville..."

He rummaged in his trunk up in the luggage rack and pulled out the miniature figure of Viktor Krum.

"Oh _wow_," Neville said enviously as Ron tipped Krum onto his pudgy hand.

"We saw him right up close, as well," Ron said. "We were in the Top Box -"

"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley."

Draco Malfoy had appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, his enormous, thuggish cronies, both of whom appeared to have grown at least a foot during the summer. Evidently they had overheard the conversation through the compartment door, which Dean and Seamus had left ajar.

"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," Harry said coolly.

"Weasley...what is _that_?" Malfoy said, pointing at Pigwidgeon's cage. A sleeve of Ron's dress robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train, the moldy lace cuff very obvious.

Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy was too quick for him; he seized the sleeve and pulled.

"Look at this!" Malfoy said in ecstasy, holding up Ron's robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle, "Weasley, you weren't thinking of _wearing_ these, were you? I mean - they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety..."

"Eat dung, Malfoy!" Ron said, the same color as the dress robes as he snatched them back out of Malfoy's grip. Malfoy howled with derisive laughter; Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly.

"So...going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know...you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won..."

"What are you talking about?" Ron snapped.

_"Are you going to enter?"_ Malfoy repeated. "I suppose _you two_ will, Powter? Neither of you miss a chance to show off, do you?"

"Sounds like you've been creating your own language over the summer, Malfoy. I just can't decide whether it is the language of the idiotic or the snobbish." I said, narrowing my eyes on the blond boy.

"Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy," Hermione said testily, over the top of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_.

A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy's pale face.

"Don't tell me you don't _know_?" he said delightedly. "You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even _know_? My God, _my_ father told me about it ages ago...heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry...Maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley...yes...they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him..."

Laughing once more, Malfoy beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them disappeared.

Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind them that the glass shattered.

_"Ron!"_ Hermione said reproachfully, and she pulled out her wand, muttered _"Reparo!"_ and the glass shards flew back into a single pane and back into the door.

"Well...making it look like he knows everything and we don't..." Ron snarled. _" 'Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry'_...Dad could've got a promotion any time...he just likes it where he is..."

"Of course he does," Hermione said quietly. "Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron -"

"Him! Get to me!? As if!" Ron said, picking up one of the remaining Cauldron Cakes and squashing it into a pulp.

Ron's bad mood continued for the rest of the journey. He didn't talk much as we changed into our school robes, and was still glowering when the Hogwarts Express slowed down at last and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station.

As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Hermione bundled up Crookshanks in her cloak and Ron left his dress robes over Pigwidgeon as we left the train, heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour. The rain was now coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of icecold water were being emptied repeatedly over our heads.

"Hi, Hagrid!" Harry yelled, pointing out the gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform.

"All righ', Harry, Cheyenne?" Hagrid bellowed back, waving. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"

First years traditionally reached Hogwarts Castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid.

"Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather," Hermione said fervently, shivering as we inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd. A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for us outside the station. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and I climbed gratefully into one of them, the door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle.


	12. The Triwizard Tournament

**AN: All right, everyone, I apologize my updates have been slow as of late, but things _have_ been really busy in my rl. School will be starting soon for me and I will be a Senior in High School! Yay! But, I promise I will continue to write this story in my spare time. Thank you to those who have continued to patiently follow my stories, I am much appreciative. I promise to continue to update as quickly as I possibly can.**

**Chapter Twelve**

**The Triwizard Tournament**

Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window together, Harry and I could see Hogwarts coming nearer, it's many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as our carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and I jumped down from our carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when we were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.

"Blimey," Ron said, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, "if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak - ARRGH!"

A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and exploded. Drenched and sputtering, Ron staggered sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb dropped - bursting over my head and making me give a small scream. A third narrowly missed me and Hermione - it burst at Harry's feet, sending a wave of cold water over his sneakers into his socks. People all around us shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire. Harry and I looked up and saw, floating twenty feet above us, Peeves the Poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.

"PEEVES!" an angry voice yelled. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"

Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House, had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling.

"Ouch - sorry, Miss Granger -"

"That's all right, Professor!" Hermione gasped, massaging her throat.

"Peeves get down here NOW!" Professor McGonagall barked, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward through her square-rimmed spectacles.

"Not doing nothing!" Peeves cackled, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!" And he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived.

"I shall call the headmaster!" Professor McGonagall shouted. "I'm warning you, Peeves -"

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely.

"Well, move along, then!" Professor McGonagall said sharply to the bedraggled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundred and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Pearly white and semitransparent, Nick was dressed tonight in his usual doublet, but with a particularly large ruff, which served the dual purpose of looking extra-festive, and insuring that his head didn't wobble too much on his parially severed neck.

"Good evening," he said, beaming at us.

"Says who?" Harry said, taking off his sneakers and emptying them of water. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving."

The Sorting of the new students into Houses took place at the start of every school year, but by an unlucky combination of circumstances, Harry hadn't been present at once since his own. He appeared to be quite looking forward to it. Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table.

"Hiya, Harry! Cheyenne!"

It was Colin Creevey, a third year to whom Harry and I were something of his heros.

"Hi, Colin," Harry and I said warily.

"Harry, Cheyenne, guess what? Guess what? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"

"That's great, Colin," I said, smiling half-heartedly at him.

"He's really excited!" Colin said, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry, Cheyenne?"

"Er - yeah, all right," Harry said. We turned back to Hermione, Ron, and Nearly Headless Nick. "Brothers and sisters usually go in the same House, don't they?" he asked. I knew he was judging by the Weasleys, all seven of whom had been put into Gryffindor.

"Oh no, not neccessarily," Hermione said. "Parvati Patil's twin's in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, won't you?"

Harry and I looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagird, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor, but there was another empty chair too, and neither of us could think who else was missing.

"Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Hermione asked, who was also looking up at the teachers.

We had never yet had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. My and Harry's favorite by far had been Professor Lupin, who had resigned last year. We looked up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there.

"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" Hermione said, looking anxious.

Harry and I scanned the table more carefully. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway gray hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side was the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy haired Potions master, Snape - my and Harry's least favorite person at Hogwarts...aside from Malfoy. My and Harry's loathing of Snape was matched only by Snape's hatred of us, a hatred which had, if possible, intensified last year, when we had helped Sirius escape right under Snape's overlarge nose - Snape and Sirius had been enemies since their own school days.

On Snape's other side was an empty seat, which Harry and I guessed was Professor McGonagall's. Next to it, and in the very center of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. Harry and I glanced up at the ceiling too. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and we had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it.

"Oh hurry up," Ron moaned, on Harry's other side. "I could eat a hippogriff."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were wet, it was nothing to how these first years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school - all them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who was wrapped in what Harry and I recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The coat was so big for him that it looked as though he were draped in a furry black circus tent. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking almost painfully exicted. When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, he caught Colin Creevey's eye, gave a double thumbs-up, and mouthed, _I fell in the lake! _He looked positively delighted about it.

Professor McGonagall now placed a four-legged stool on the ground before the first years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty, patched wizard's hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song:

_A thousand years or more ago,_

_When I was newly sewn,_

_There lived four wizards of renown,_

_Whose names are still well known:_

_Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,_

_Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,_

_Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_

_Shrewd Slytherin, from fen._

_The shared a wish, a hope, a dream,_

_They hatched a daring plan_

_To educate young sorcerers_

_Thus Hogwarts School began._

_Now each of these four founders_

_Formed their own House, for each_

_Did value different virtues_

_In the ones they had to teach._

_By Gryffindor, the bravest were_

_Prized far beyond the rest;_

_For Ravenclaw, the cleverest_

_Would always be the best;_

_For Hufflepuff, hard workers were_

_Most worthy of admission;_

_And power-hungry Slytherin_

_Loved those of great ambition._

_While still alive they did divide _

_Their favorites from the throng,_

_Yet how to pick the worthy ones_

_When they were dead and gone?_

_'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,_

_He whipped me off his head_

_The founders put some brains in me_

_So I could choose instead!_

_Now slip me snug about your ears,_

_I've never yet been wrong,_

_I'll have a look inside your mind_

_And tell where you belong!_

The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished.

"That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us," Harry said, clapping along with everyone else.

"Sings a different one every year," Ron said. "It's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one."

Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment.

"When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool," she told the first years. "When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table."

"Ackerley, Stewart!"

A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on, and sat down on the stool.

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted.

Stewart Ackerley took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him. Harry and I caught a glimpse of Cho, the Ravenclaw Seeker, cheering Stewart Ackerley as he sat down. For a fleeting second, I saw Harry look as though he had the desire to join the Ravenclaw table as well.

"Baddock, Malcolm!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

The table on the other side of the hall erupted with cheers; Harry and I could see Malfoy clapping as Baddock joined the Slytherins. We wondered whether Baddock knew that Slytherin House had turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other. Across from us, Fred and George hissed Malcolm Baddock as he sat down.

"Branstone, Eleanor!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Cauldwell, Owen!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Creevey, Dennis!"

Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid's moleskin, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teachers' table. About twice as tall as a normal man, and at least three times as broad, Hagrid, with his long, wild, tangled black hair and beard, looked slightly alarming - a misleading impression, for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I knew Hagrid to possess a very kind nature. He winked at us as he sat down at the end of the staff table and watched Dennis Creevey putting on the Sorting Hat. The rip at the brim opened wide -

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted.

Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over to join his brother.

"Colin, I fell in!" he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. "It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!"

"Cool!" Colin said, just as excitedly. "It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"

_"Wow!"_ Dennis said, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster.

"Dennis! Dennis! See that couple down there? The ones with the black/brown hair, and both with the glasses? See them? _Know who they are, Dennis?"_

Harry and I looked away, staring very hard at the Sorting Hat, now Sorting Emma Dobbs.

The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving one by one to the four-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the L's.

"Oh hurry up," Ron moaned, massaging his stomach.

"Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food," Nearly Headless Nick said as "Madley, Laura!" became a Hufflepuff.

" 'Course it is, if you're dead," Ron snapped.

"I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch," Nearly Headless Nick said, applauding as "McDonald, Natalie!" joined the Gryffindor table. "We don't want to break our winning streak, do we?"

Gryffindor had won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years in a row.

"Pritchard, Graham!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Quirke, Orla!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

And finally, with "Whitby, Kevin!" ("HUFFLEPUFF!"), the Sorting ended. Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away.

"About time," Ron said, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate.

Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.

"I have only two words to say to you," he told us, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. _"Tuck in."_

"Hear, hear!" Harry and Ron said loudly as the empty dishes filled magically before our eyes.

Nearly Headless Nick watched mournfully as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I loaded our own plates.

"Aaah, 'at's be'er," Ron said, with his mouth full of mashed potato.

"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," Nearly Headless Nick said. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."

"Why? Wha' 'appened?" Harry asked, through a sizable chunk of steak.

"Peeves of course," Nearly Headless Nick said, shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up on his neck. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast - well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he'd like, utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost's council - the Far Friar was all for giving him the chance - but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."

The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent specter covered in silver bloodstains. He was the only person at Hogwarts who could really control Peeves.

"Yeah, we though Peeves seemed hacked off about something," Ron said darkly. "So what did he do in the kitchens?"

"Oh the usual," Nearly Headless Nick said, shrugging. "Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits -"

_Clang_.

Hermione had knocked over her golden goblet. Pumpkin juice spread steadily over the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid no attention.

"There are house-elves _here_?" she asked, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless Nick. "Here at _Hogwarts_?"

"Certainly," Nearly Headless Nick said, looking surprised at her reaction. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."

"I've never seen one!" Hermione said.

"Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?" Nearly Headless Nick said. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning...see to the fires and so on...I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?"

Hermione stared at him.

"But they get _paid_?" she said. "They get _holidays_, don't they? And - and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?"

Nearly Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghosty skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck.

"Sick leave and pensions?" he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. "House-elves don't want sick leave and pensions!"

Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.

"Oh c'mon, 'Er-my-knee," Ron said, accidentally spraying Harry witih bits of Yorkshire pudding. "Oops - sorry, 'Arry -" He swallowed. "You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself!"

"Slave labor," Hermione said, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner. _Slave labor."_

"Oi ve..." I mumbled, shaking my head, slightly annoyed. Hermione refused to eat another bite.

The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings.

"Treacle tart, Hermione!" Ron said, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. "Spotted duck, look! Chocolate gateau!"

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up.

When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" Dumbledore said, smiling around at us all. "Now that we are all fed and watered." ("Hmph!" Hermione said.) "I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices."

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbess, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

_"What?"_ Harry and I gasped, looking toward Fred and George, our fellow members of the Quidditch team. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak. Dumbledore went on, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy - but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts -"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers' table.

A dull _clunk_ echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione gasped.

The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any either Harry or I had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening.

One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye - and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all we could see was whiteness.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words neither Harry nor I could hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in it's socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Dumbledore said brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed on Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

"Moody?" I heard Harry mutter to Ron. _"Mad-Eye Moody?_ The one your dad went to help this morning?"

"Must be," Ron replied in a low, awed voice.

"What happened to him?" Hermione and I whispered together. "What happened to his _face_?"

"Dunno," Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination.

Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and Harry and I saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" Fred said loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am _not_ joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar..."

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

"Er - but maybe this is not the time...no..." Dumbledore said, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament...well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who _do_ know will forgive me for giving a short explaination, and allow their attention to wander freely.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

_"Death toll?"_ Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly to one another, and I myself was far more interested in hearing about the tournament than in worrying about deaths that had happened hundreds of years ago.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

"The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their shortlisted contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

"I'm going for it!" Fred hissed, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, Harry and I could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This" - Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious - "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.

"They can't do that!" George said, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"

"They're not stopping me entering," Fred said stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"

I smiled, "I think you'd be able to do it. You've both learned enough to be able to cope with dangerous situations like the Triwizard tournament." I said.

"Come on," Hermione said suddenly, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and I set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament.

"Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?" Harry asked.

"Dunno," Fred said, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George..."

"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," Ron said.

"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?" Fred said shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."

"People have died, though!" Hermione said in a worried voice as we walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.

"Yeah," Fred said airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get 'round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"

"What d'you reckon?" Ron asked Harry and I. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older...Dunno if we've learned enough..."

"I definitely haven't," came Neville's gloomy voice from behind Fred and George, causing me to jump and tumble into Fred, who steadied me once more.

"I expect my gran'd want me to try, though. She's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor. I'll just have to - oops..."

Neville's foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. There were many of these trick stairs at Hogwarts; it was second nature to most of the older students to jump this particular step, but Neville's memory was notoriously poor. Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armor at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily.

"Shut it, you," Ron said, banging down its visor as we passed.

We made our way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said as we approached.

"Balderdash," George said, "a prefect downstairs told me."

The portrait swung foward to reveal a hole in the wall through which we all climbed. A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was fully of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look, and Harry and I distinctly heard her mutter _"Slave labor,"_ before we bid the boys good night, with a quick peck on the cheek from Fred, and disappeared through the doorway to the girls' dormitory.

Hermione and I followed the familiar spiral staircase to our dormitory, which was at the top of the tower. Five four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Patil and Lavender were already getting into bed, chatting about the tournament, wondering about how the kids from the other two schools would look like and who from Hogwarts would enter. Our other roommate, Fay Dunbar, a pretty girl with long, brown hair and blue eyes, was just pulling on her pajamas, looking tired.

Hermione and I began pulling on our own night gowns, Hermione still muttering about slave labor in the castle and how the poor house elves were being brainwashed. I sighed, rolling my eyes and got into bed. Someone - a house-elf, no doubt - had placed warming pans between the sheets. It was extremely comfortable, lying there in bed and listening to the storm raging outside.

"How Hogwarts can condown such slave labor! We're forcing those poor house-elves to do these things just so we could sit on our butts and not have to lift a finger!" Hermione was growling from her bed, where I could see she was trying not to enjoy the warm bedsheets like the rest of us. "And I cannot believe those boys, thinking they can find a way to trick the judge into letting them into the tournament, the nerve!"

I sighed once more, "Good night, Hermione..." I said, not much in the mood to deal with her ranting after such a good meal and being so comfortably warm. Drawing the curtains of my four-poster, I reclined back into my pillow and rolled onto my side, snuggling into the warm sheets.

A sudden series of dazzling new pictures formed in my mind's eye...I had hoodwinked the impartial judge into believing I was seventeen...I had become Hogwarts champion...I was standing on the grounds, my arms raised in triumph in front of the whole school, all of whom were applauding and screaming...I had just won the Triwizard Tournament...Fred's face stood out particularly clearly in the blurred crowd, his face glowing with love...

I smiled into my pillow, exceptionally glad Hermione couldn't see what I could.


	13. MadEye Moody

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Mad-Eye Moody**

The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter gray swirled overhead as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I examined our new course schedules at breakfast. A few seats along, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were discussing magical methods of aging themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament.

"Today's not bad...outside all morning," Ron said, who was running his finger down the Monday column of his schedule. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures...damn it, we're still with the Slytherins..."

"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groaned, looking down. Divination was our least favorite subject, apart from Potions. Professor Trelawney kept predicting my and Harry's deaths, which we both found extremely annoying.

"You should have given it up like me, shouldn't you?" Hermione said briskly, buttering herself some toast. "Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy."

"You're eating again, I notice," Ron said, watching Hermione adding liberal amounts of jam to her toast too.

"I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," Hermione said haughtily.

"Yeah...and you were hungry," Ron said, grinning.

There was a sudden rustling noise above us, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail. Instinctively, Harry and I looked up, but there was no sign of white or black among the mass of brown and gray. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. A large tawny owl soared down to Neville Longbottom and deposited a parcel into his lap - Neville almost always forgot to pack something. On the other side of the Hall Draco Malfoy's eagle owl had landed on his shoulder, carrying what looked like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home. Trying to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment in our stomachs, Harry and I returned to our breakfasts. Was it possible that something had happened to Hedwig and Elon, and that Sirius hadn't even got our letter?

Our preoccupation lasted all the way across the sodden vegetable patch until we arrived in greenhouse three, but here we were distracted by Professor Sprout showing the class the ugliest plants either of us had ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick, black, giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid.

"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout told us briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus -"

"The _what_?" Seamus Finnigan said, sounding revolted.

"Pus, Finnigan, pus," Professor Sprout said, "and it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the puss, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus."

Squeezing the bubotubers was disgusting, but oddly satisfying. As each swelling was popped, a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid burst forth, which smelled strongly of petrol. We caught it in the bottles as Professor Sprout had indicated, and by the end of the lesson had collected several pints.

"This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy," Professor Sprout said, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. "An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples."

"Like poor Eloise Midgen," Hannah Abbott said, who was a Hufflepuff, in a hushed voice. "She tried to curse hers off."

"Silly girl," Professor Sprout said, shaking her head. "But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end."

A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signaling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Hufflepuffs climbing the stone steps for Transfiguration, and the Gryffindors heading in the other direction, down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's small wooden cabin, which stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the contents more closely. As we drew nearer, an odd rattling noise reached our ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions.

"Mornin'!" Hagrid said, grinning at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I. "Be'er wait fer the Slytherins, they won' want ter miss this - Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

"Come again?" Ron said.

Hagrid pointed down into the crates.

"Eurgh!" Lavender Brown squealed, jumping backward.

"Eurgh" just about summed up the Blast-Ended Skrewts in my and Harry's opinion. They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of a skerwt, and with a small _phut_, it would be propelled forward several inches.

"On' jus' hatched," Hagrid said proudly, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"

"And why would we _want_ to raise them?" a cold voice said.

The Slytherins had arrived. The speaker was Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle were chuckling appreciatively at his words.

Hagrid looked stumped at the question.

"I mean, what do they _do_?" Malfoy asked. "What is the _point_ of them?"

Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds' pause, then he said roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things - I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer - I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake - just try 'em out with a bit of each."

"First pus and now this," Seamus muttered.

Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Neither Harry nor I could suppress the suspicion that the whole thing was entirely pointless, because the skrewts didn't seem to have mouths.

_"Ouch!"_ Dean Thomas yelled after about ten minutes. "It got me!"

Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious.

"It's end exploded!" Dean said angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.

"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," Hagrid said, nodding.

"Eurgh!" Lavender Brown said again. "Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?"

"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," Hagrid said enthusiastically (Lavender quickly withdrew her hand from the box). "I reckon they're the males...The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies...I think they might be ter suck blood."

"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," Malfoy said sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"

"Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful," Hermione snapped. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?"

Harry, Ron, and I grinned at Hagrid, who gave us a furtive smile from behind his bushy beard. Hagrid would have liked nothing better than a pet dragon, as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and myself knew only too well - he had owned one for a brief period during our first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norbert. Hagrid simple loved monstrous creatures, the more lethal, the better.

"Well, at least the skrewts are small," Ron said as we made our way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later.

"They are _now_," Hermione said in an exasperated voice, "but once Hagrid's found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long."

"Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it?" Ron said, grinning slyly at her.

"You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up," Hermione said. "As a matter of fact I think he's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all."

We sat down at the Gryffindor table and helped ourselves to lamb chops and potatoes. Hermione began eating so fast that Harry and Ron stared at her.

"Er - is this the new stand on elf rights?" Ron asked. "You're going to make yourself puke instead?"

"That would be pointless..." I said, sipping my pumpkin juice. "She's going to go to the library..."

_"What?"_ Ron said in disbelief. "Hermione, that's crazy - it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!"

Hermione shrugged and continued to shovel down her food as though she had not eaten for days. Then she leapt to her feet, said, "See you at dinner!" and departed at high speed.

When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Harry, Ron, and I set off for North Tower where, at the top of a tightly spiraling staircase, a silver stepladder led to a circular trapdoor in the ceiling, and the room where Professor Trelawney lived.

The familiar sweet perfume spreading from the fire met our nortrils as we emerged at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains were all closed; the circular room was bathed in a dim reddish light cast by the many lamps, which were all draped with scarves and shawls. Harry, Ron, and I walked through the mass of occupied chairs and poufs that cluttered the room, and sat down at the same small circular table.

"Good day," the misty voice of Professor Trelawney said from right behind me, making me jump and tumble forward into Harry. He gently grabbed my forearm and sat me up again.

A very thin woman with enormous glasses that made her eyes appear far too large for her face, Professor Trelawney was peering down at Harry and I with the tragic expression she always wore whenever she saw us. The usual large amount of beads, chains, and bangles glittered upon her person in the firelight.

"You are both preoccupied, my dears," she said mournfully to Harry and I. "The inner eye sees past both your brave faces to the troubled souls within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead of you, alas...most difficult...I fear the thing you both dread will indeed come to pass...and perhaps sooner than either of you think..."

Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry and I, both of whom looked stonily back. Professor Trelawney swept past us and settled herself in a large winged armchair before the fire, facing the class. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who deeply admired Professor Trelawney, were sitting on poufs very close to her.

"My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars," she said. "The movements of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary rays, which intermingle..."

But my thoughts had drifted. The perfumed fire always made me feel sleepy and dull-witted, and Professor Trelawney's rambling talks on fortune-telling never held me exactly spellbound - though I couldn't help thinking about what she had just said to us. _" 'I fear the thing you both dread will indeed come to pass...' "_

But Hermione was right, I thought irritably, exchanging tired glances with Harry, Professor Trelawney really was an old fraud. Neither of us were dreading anything at the moment at all...well, unless you counted our fears that Sirius had been caught...but what did Professor Trelawney know? We had long since come to the conclusion that her brand of fortune-telling was really no more than lucky guesswork and a spooky manner.

Except, of course, for that time at the end of last term, when she had made the prediction about Voldemort rising again...and Dumbledore himself had said that he thought that trance had been genuine, when Harry and I had described it to him...

_"Harry! Chey!"_ Ron muttered.

"What?"

Harry and I looked around; the whole class was staring at us. We both sat up straight; we had been almost dozing off, lost in the heat and our thoughts.

"I was saying, my dears, that you were both clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn," Professor Trelawney said, a faint note of resentment in her voice at the fact that we had obviously not been hanging on her words.

"Born under - what, sorry?" Harry asked.

"Saturn, dear, the plant, Saturn!" Professor Trelawney said, sounding definitely irritated that neither of us was riveted by this news. "I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moments of your births...Both your dark hair...your mean stature...tragic losses so young in life...I think I am right in saying, my dears, that you were both born in midwinter, one of you a few weeks older than the other?"

"No," Harry said immediately, "I was born in July...it should be Chey's though...she was born in Feburary..." He said. I nodded in agreement, "Harry's right, Professor. I was born in Feburary, so it should more be my ruling planet than his considering he's five months younger than I am..."

Ron hastily turned his laugh into a hacking cough.

Half an hour later, each of us had been given a complicated circular chart, and was attempting to fill in the position of the planets at our moment of birth. It was dull work, requiring much consultation of timetables and calculation of angles.

"I've got Saturn and Uranus..." I said after a while, tilting my head to one side and frowning some.

"I've got two Neptunes here," Harry said afterward, frowning down at his piece of parchment, "that can't be right, can it?"

"Aaaaah," Ron said, imitating Professor Trelawney's mystical whisper, "when two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Harry..."

Seamus and Dean, who were working nearby, sniggered loudly, though not loudly enough to mask the excited squeals of Lavender Brown - "Oh Professor, look! I think I've got an unaspected plant! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?"

"It is Uranus, my dear," Professor Trelawney said, peering down at the chart.

"Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?" Ron said.

Most unfortunately, Professor Trelawney heard him, and it was this, perhaps, that made her give us so much homework at the end of class.

"A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will affect you, with reference to your personal chart," she snapped, sounding much more like Professor McGonagall than her usual airy-fairy self. "I want it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses!"

"Miserable old bat," Ron said bitterly as we joined the crowds descending the staircase back to the Great Hall and dinner. "That'll take all weekend, that will."

"It shouldn't be that bad...I could help you both if you want..." I said softly, recieving a glare from Ron for reminding him I would get done rather quickly.

"Lots of homework?" Hermione said brightly, catching up with us. "Professor Vector didn't give _us_ any at all!"

"Well, bully for Professor Vector," Ron said moodily.

We reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. We had just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice rang out behind us.

"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I turned. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.

"What?" Ron said shortly.

"Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!" Malfoy said, brandishing a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed entrance hall could hear. "Listen to this!"

**FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC**

It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent._ Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."

Malfoy looked up.

"Imagine them not evening getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't he?" he crowed.

Everyone in the entrance hall was listening now. Malfoy straightened the paper with a flourish and read on:

Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ("policemen") over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of "Mad-Eye" Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody's heavily guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen, but refused to answer_ Daily Prophet_ questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene.

"And there's a picture, Weasley!" Malfoy said, flipping the paper over and holding it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house - if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"

Ron was shaking with fury. Everyone was staring at him.

"Get stuffed, Malfoy," Harry and I said. "C'mon, Ron..."

"Oh yeah, you were both staying with them this summer, weren't you, Powter?" Malfoy sneered. "So tell me, is his mother really that portky, or is it just the picture?"

"You know _your_ mother, Malfoy?" I snapped - Harry and Hermione had grabbed the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy - "that expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"

Malfoy's pale face went slightly pink.

"Don't you dare insult my mother, Power."

"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," Harry said, grabbing my arm one handed.

BANG!

Several people screamed - hands grabbed my shoulders and I was whirled around - I turned, seeing Harry had pulled me behind him, his hand in his robes, but before he could whip out his wand, we heard a second loud BANG, and a roar that echoed through the entrance hall.

"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"

Harry spun around, his arm outstretched to keep me behind him, but I peered easily over his shoulder. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing.

There was a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry and I - at least, his normal eye was looking at us; the other one was pointing into the back of his head.

"Did he get either of you?" Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly.

"No," Harry said, "missed."

"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouted.

"Leave - what?" Harry and I asked, bewildered.

"Not you - him!" Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody's rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head.

Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons.

"I don't think so!" Moody roared, pointing his wand at the ferret again - it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more.

"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned," Moody growled as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do..."

The ferret flew through the air, it's legs and tail flailing helplessly. I flinched with every audible smack that echoed about the hall.

"Never - do - that - again -" Moody said, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upward again.

"Professor Moody!" a shocked voice said.

Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," Moody said calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.

"What - what are you doing?" Professor McGonagall asked, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air.

"Teaching," Moody said.

"Teach - Moody, _is that a student_?" Professor McGonagall shrieked, the books spilling out of her arms.

"Yep," Moody said.

"No!" Professor McGonagall cried, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing. I thought I saw him glance at me and away again, lookig thoroughly mortified.

"Moody, we _never_ use transfiguration as a punishment!" Professor McGonagall said weakly. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"

"He might've mentioned it, yeah," Moody said, scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I thought a good sharp shock -"

"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"

"I'll do that, then," Moody said, staring at Malfoy with great dislike.

Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words "my father" were distinguishable.

"Oh yeah?" Moody said quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull _clunk_ of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy...You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son...you tell him that from me...Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?"

"Yes," Malfoy said resentfully.

"Another old friend," Moody growled. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape...Come on, you..."

And he seized Malfoy's upper arm and marched him off toward the dungeons.

Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.

"Don't talk to me," Ron said quietly to Harry, Hermione, and I as we sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened.

"Why not?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," Ron said, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret..."

Harry and Hermione both laughed heartily. I gave a very weak chuckle, unsure. Hermione began doling beef casserole onto each of our plates.

"He could have really hurt Malfoy..." I said softly, frowning some. "It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it -"

"Cheyenne!" Ron said furiously, his eyes snapping open again. None of them said my full first name unless they were really angry or irritated..."you're ruining the best moment of my life!"

I flinched again, turning my eyes to my plate. Hermione made an impatient noise and began to eat at top speed again.

"Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" Harry said, watching her.

"Got to," Hermione said thickly. "Loads to do."

"But you told us Profesor Vector -"

"It's not schoolwork," she said. Within five minutes, she had cleared her plate and departed. No sooner had she gone than her seat was taken by Fred.

"Moody!" he said. "How cool is he?"

"Beyond cool," George said, sitting down opposite Fred.

"Supercool," said the twins' best friend, Lee Jordan, sliding into the seat beside George. "We had him this afternoon," he told Harry, Ron, and I as Fred stole a bite of my casserole.

"What was it like?" Harry asked eagerly. I playfully swatted Fred's fork away as he made to steal another bite and mock glared at him.

George and Lee Jordan exchanged looks full of meaning. Fred grinned around his mouthful of casserole.

"Never had a lesson like it," he said.

"He _knows_, man," Lee said.

Knows what?" Ron asked, leaning forward.

"Knows what it's like to be out there _doing_ it," George said impressively.

"Doing what?" Harry asked.

"Fighting the Dark Arts," Fred said.

"He's seen it all," George said.

" 'Mazing," Lee said.

Ron dived into his bag for his schedule.

"We haven't got him till Thursday!" he said in a disappointed voice.


	14. The Unforgivable Curses

**Chapter Fourteen**

**The Unforgivable Curses**

The next two days passed without great incident, unless you counted Neville melting his sixth cauldron in Potions. Professor Snape, who seemed to have attained new levels of vindictiveness over the summer, gave Neville detention, and Neville returned from it in a state of nervous collapse, having been made to disembowel a barrel full of horned toads.

"You know why Snape's in such a foul mood, don't you?" Ron said to Harry and I as we watched Hermione teaching Neville a Scouring Charm to remove the frog guts from under his fingernails.

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "Moody."

It was common knowledge that Snape really wanted the Dark Arts job, and he had now failed to get it for the fourth year running. Snape had disliked all of our previous Dark Arts teachers, and shown it - but he seemed strangely wary of displaying overt animosity to Mad-Eye Moody. Indeed, whenever Harry and I saw the two of them together - at mealtimes, or when they passed in the corridors - we had the distinct impression that Snape was avoiding Moody's eye, whether magical or normal.

"I reckon Snape's a bit scared of him, you know," I said thoughtfully.

"Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad," Ron said, his eyes misty over, "and bounced him all around his dungeon..."

The Gryffindor fourth years were looking forward to Moody's first lesson so much that we arrived early on Thursday lunchtime and queued up outside his classroom before the bell had even rung. The only person missing was Hermione, who turned up just in time for the lesson.

"Been in the -"

"Library." Harry and I finished her sentence for her. "C'mon, quick, or we won't get decent seats."

We hurried into four chairs right in front of the teacher's desk, took out our copies of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection,_ and waited, unusually quiet. Soon we heard Moody's distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. We could just see his clawed, wooden foot protruding from underneath his robes.

"You can put those away," he growled, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, "those books. You won't need them."

We returned the books to our bags, Ron looking excited.

Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.

"Right then," he said, when the last person had declared themselves present, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures - you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"

There was a general murmur of assent.

"But you're behind - very behind - on dealing with curses," Moody said. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark -"

"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurted out.

Moody's magical eye spun around to stare at Ron; Ron looked extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiled - the first time Harry and I had seen him do so. The effect was to make his heavily scarred face look more twisted and contorted than ever, but it was nevertheless good to know that he ever did anything as friendly as smile. Ron looked deeply relieved.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" Moody said. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago...Yeah, I'm staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore...One year, and then back to my quiet retirement."

He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his gnarled hands together.

"So - straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a high opinion on your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."

Lavender jumped and blushed. She had been showing Parvati her completed horoscope under the desk. Apparently Moody's magical eye could see through solid wood, as well as out of the back of his head.

"So...do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron's, Hermione's, and my own. Moody pointed at Ron, though his magical eye was still fixed on Lavender.

"Er," Ron said tentatively, "my dad told me about one...Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"

"Ah, yes," Moody said appreciatively. "Your father _would_ know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."

Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. The hair on the back of my neck prickled and gooseflesh ran the length of my arms. I h-a-t-e-d spiders.

Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that we could all see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, _"Imperio!"_

The spider leapt from Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backward and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a back flip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance.

Everyone was laughing - everyone except Moody.

"Think it's funny, do you?" he growled. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?"

The laughter died away almost instantly.

"Total control," Moody said quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats..."

I shuddered and Harry rubbed my back.

"Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," Moody said, and Harry and I knew he was talking about the days in which Voldemort had been all-powerful. "Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will.

"The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, and everyone jumped.

Moody picked up the somersulting spider and threw it back into the jar.

"Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"

My and Hermione's hands flew into the air again and so, to my and Harry's slight surprise, did Neville's. The only class in which Neville usually volunteered information was Herbology, which was easily his best subject. Neville looked surprised at his own daring.

"Yes?" Moody said, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville.

"There's one - the Cruciatus Curse," Neville said in a small but distinct voice.

Moody was looking very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes.

"Your name's Longbottom?" he said, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again.

Neville nodded nervously, but Moody made no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it remained motionless, apparently too scared to move.

"The Cruciatus Curse," Moody said. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he said, pointing his wand at the spider. _"Engorgio!"_

The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula. Abandoning all pretense, Ron and I pushed our chairs backward, as far away from Moody's desk as possible.

Moody raised his wand again, pointed it at the spider, and muttered, _"Crucio!"_

At once, the spider's legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but Harry and I were sure that if it could have given voice, it would have been screaming. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently -

"Stop it!" Hermione said shrilly.

Harry and I looked around at her. She was looking, not at the spider, but at Neville, and the two of us, following her gaze, saw that Neville's hands were clenched upon the desk in front of him, his knuckles white, his eyes wide and horrified.

Moody raised his wand. The spider's legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch.

_"Reducio,"_ Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar.

"Pain," Moody said softly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse...That one was very popular once too.

"Right...anyone know any others?"

I lifted my hand tentatively as I glanced about. From the looks on everyone's faces, I guessed they were all wondering what was going to happen to the last spider. Hermione's hand shook slightly as, for the third time, she raised it into the air with mine.

"Yes?" Moody said, looking at us.

_"Avada Kedavra,"_ Hermione and I whispered.

Several people looked uneasily around at us, including Ron.

"Ah," Moody said, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. "Yes, the last and worst. _Avada Kedavra_...the Killing Curse."

He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he trapped it, and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.

Moody raised his wand, and Harry and I felt a sudden thrill of foreboding. My hand attached itself to his wrist and his arm wrapped around my waist.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_ Moody roared.

There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air - instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. Several of the students stifled cries; Ron had thrown himself backward and almost toppled off his seat as the spider skidded toward him. I could feel my body quivering with fright as tears stung my eyes. The arm around my waist tightened.

Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.

"Not nice," he said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only two known people have ever survived it, and they're sitting right in front of me."

My face warmed and I buried it in Harry's shoulder as Moody's eyes (both of them) looked into first his, then mine. I could feel everyone else looking around at us too. I tried to block everything else out, except for Harry.

So that was how our parents had died...exactly like that spider. Had they all been unblemished and unmarked too? Had they simply seen the flash of green light and heard the rush of speeding death, before life was wiped from their bodies?

Harry and I had been picturing our parents' deaths over and over again for three years now, ever since we'd found out they had been murdered, ever since we'd found out what had happened that night: Wormtail had betrayed our parents' whereabouts to Voldemort, who had come to find us at our cottage. How Voldemort had killed my and Harry's fathers first. How James Potter and Mark Power had tried to hold him off, while they shouted at their wives to take Harry and myself and run...Voldemort had advanced on Lily Potter and Kristen Power, told them to move aside so that he could kill Harry and I...how they had begged him to kill them instead, refused to stop shielding their children...and so Voldemort had murdered them too, before turning his wand on Harry and myself...

Harry and I knew these details because we had heard our parents' voices when we had fought the dementors last year - for that was the terrible power of the dementors: to force their victims to relive the worst memories of their lives, and drown, powerless, in their own despair...

Moody was speaking again, from a great distance, it seemed to Harry and I. With a massive effort, we pulled ourselves back to the present and listened to what Moody was saying.

_"Avada Kedavra's_ a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it - you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it.

"Now, if there's no countercurse, why am I showing you? _Because you've got to know._ You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roared, and the whole class jumped again.

"Now...those three curses - _Avada Kedavra_, Imperius, and Cruciatus - are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice _constant, never-ceasing vigilance._ Get out your quills...copy this down..."

We spent the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No one spoke until the bell rang - but when Moody had dismissed us and we had left the classroom, a torrent of talk burst forth. Most people were discussing the curses in awed voices - "Did you see it twitch?" " - and when he killed it - just like that!"

They were talking about the lesson, Harry and I thought, looking at each other, as though it had been some sort of spectacular show, but neither of us had found it very entertaining - and nor, it seemed, had Hermione.

"Hurry up," she said tensely to Harry, Ron, and I.

"Not the ruddy library again?" Ron groaned.

"No," Hermione said curtly, pointing up a side passage. "Neville."

Neville was standing alone, halfway up the passage, staring at the stone wall opposite him with the same horrified, wide-eyed look he had worn when Moody had demonstrated the Cruciatus Curse.

"Neville?" Hermione said gently.

Neville looked around.

"Oh hello," he said, his voice much higher than usual. "Interesting lesson, wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner, I'm - I'm starving, aren't you?"

"Neville, are you all right?" Hermione asked.

"Oh yes, I'm fine," Neville gabbled in the same unnaturally high voice. "Very interesting dinner - I mean lesson - what's for eating?"

Ron gave Harry and I a startled look.

"Neville, what -?"

But an odd clunking noise sounded behind us, and we turned to see Professor Moody limping toward us. All five of us fell silent, watching him apprehensively, but when he spoke, it was in a much lower and gentler growl than we had yet heard.

"It's all right, sonny," he said to Neville. "Why don't you come up to my office? Come on...we can have a cup of tea..."

Neville looked even more frightened at the prospect of tea with Moody. He neither moved nor spoke. Moody turned his magical eye upon Harry and I.

"You all right, are you, Potter, Power?"

"Yes," Harry and I said, almost defiantly.

Moody's blue eye quivered slightly in its socket as it surveyed the two of us. Then he said, "You've both got to konw. It seems harsh, maybe, _but you've got to know._ No point pretending...well...come on, Longbottom, I've got some books that might interest you."

Neville looked pleadingly at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, but we didn't say anything, so Neville had no choice but to allow himself to be steered away, one of Moody's gnarled hands on his shoulder.

"What was that about?" Ron asked, watching Neville and Moody turn the corner.

"I don't know," Hermione said, looking pensive.

"Some lesson though, eh?" Ron said to Harry and I as we set off for the Great Hall. "Fred and George were right, weren't they? He really knows his stuff, Moody, doesn't he? When he did _Avada Kedavra_, the way that spider just _died_, just snuffed it right -"

But Ron fell suddenly silent at the looks on our faces and didn't speak again until we reached the Great Hall, when he said he supposed they had better make a start on Professor Trelawney's predictions tonight, since they would take hours.

Hermione did not join in with our conversation during dinner, but ate furiously fast, and then left for the library again. Harry, Ron, and I walked back to Gryffindor Tower, and Harry, who I knew had been thinking of nothing else all through dinner, like myself, now raised the subject of the Unforgivable Curses himself.

"Wouldn't Moody and Dumbledore be in trouble with the Ministry if they knew we'd seen the curses?" Harry asked as we approached the Fat Lady.

"Yeah, problem," Ron said. "But Dumbledore's always done things his way, hasn't he, and Moody's been getting in trouble for years, I reckon. Attacks first and asks questions later - look at his dustbins. Balderdash."

The Fat Lady swung forward to reveal the entrance hole, and we climbed into the Gryffindor common room, which was crowded and noisy.

"Shall we get our Divination stuff, then?" Harry asked.

"I s'pose," Ron groaned.

I followed them up to their dormitory to show them what they would need to grab. Neville was alone inside, sitting on his bed, reading. He looked a good deal calmer than at the end of Moody's lesson, though still not entirely normal. His eyes were rather red.

"You all right, Neville?" I asked him.

"Oh yes," Neville said, "I'm fine, thanks. Just reading this book Professor Moody lent me..."

He held up the book: _Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean._

"Apparently, Professor Sprout told Professor Moody I'm really good at Herbology," Neville said. There was a faint note of pride in his voice that Harry and I had rarely heard there before. "He thought I'd like this."

Telling Neville what Professor Sprout had said, Harry and I thought, had been a very tactful way of cheering Neville up, for Neville very rarely heard that he was good at anything. It was the sort of thing Professor Lupin would have done.

Harry and Ron took their copies of _Unfogging the Future_ back down to the common room, we found a table, and set to work on their predictions for the coming month. An hour later, they had made very little progress, though our table was littered with bits of parchment bearing sums and symbols. I poured over one of their chats, my brain fogged as though it had been filled with the fumes from Professor Trelawney's fire. It'd been easier when I'd been doing my own chart.

"I haven't got a clue what this lot's supposed to mean," Harry said, staring down at a long list of calculations.

"You know," Ron said, his hair on end because of all the times he had run his fingers through it in frustration, "I think it's back to the old Divination standby."

"You mean, making it up..." I said, frowning and crossing my arms stubbornly, knowing how Hermione felt when she knew the boys weren't doing their homework properly.

"You got any better ideas?" Ron said irritably as he swept the jumble of scrawled notes off the table, dipped his pen into some ink, and started to write.

I sighed in defeat and reclined back to watch the boys make up their predictions.

"Next Monday," Ron said as he scribbled, "I am likely to develop a cough, owing to the unlucky conjunction of Mars and Jupiter." He looked up at Harry. "You know her - just put in loads of misery, she'll lap it up."

"Right," Harry said, crumpling up his first attempt and lobbing it over the heads of a group of chattering first years into the fire. "Okay...on Monday, _I_ will be in danger of - er - burns."

"Yeah, you will be," Ron said darkly, "we're seeing the skrewts again on Monday. Okay, Tuesday, _I'll_...erm..."

"Lose a treasured possession," I suggested, flicking through Harry's _Unfogging the Future_ for ideas as I crossed my legs.

"Good one," Ron said, copying it down. "Because of...erm...Mercury. Why don't you get stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend?" He said to Harry.

"Yeah...cool..." Harry said, scribbling it down, "because...Venus is in the twelfth house."

"And on Wednesday, I think I'll come off worst in a fight."

"Aaah, I was going to have a fight. Okay, I'll lose a bet."

"Yeah, you'll be betting I'll win my fight..."

They continued to make up predictions (which grew steadily more tragic) for another hour, while the common room around us slowly emptied as people went to bed. Crookshanks wandered over to us, leapt lightly into my lap, and stared inscrutably at Harry, rather as Hermione might look if she knew they weren't doing their homework properly. I started scratching him behind the ears.

Staring around the room and zoning out momentarily. I spotted Fred and George sitting together against the opposite wall, heads together, quills out, poring over a single piece of parchment. It was most unusual to see those two hidden away in a corner and working silently; they usually liked to be in the thick of things and the noisy center of attention, which was one of the greatest reasons I liked Fred. (I had a thing for guys with a great sense of humor.) There was something secretive about the way they were working on the piece of parchment, and it reminded me of how they had sat together writing something back at the Burrow. I had thought then that it was another order form for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but it didn't look like that this time; if it had been, they would surely have let Lee Jordan in on the joke. I wondered whether it had anything to do with entering the Triwizard Tournament.

As I watched, George shook his head at Fred, scratched out something with his quill, and said, in a very quiet voice that nevertheless carried across the almost deserted room. "No - sounds like we're accusing him. Got to be careful..."

Then George looked over and saw me watching him. I smiled and quickly returned to the book propped open in my lap - I didn't want him or Fred to think I was trying to be overbearing. Shortly after that, the twins rolled up their parchments, said good night (Fred kissed my forehead), and went off to bed.

Fred and George had been gone ten minutes or so when the portrait hole opened and Hermione climbed into the common room carrying a sheaf of parchment in one hand and a box whose contents rattled as she walked in the other. Crookshanks arched his back, purring.

"Hello," she said, "I've just finished!"

"So have I!" Ron said triumphantly, throwing down his quill.

Hermione sat down, laid the things she was carrying in an empty armchair, and pulled Ron's predictions toward her.

"Not going to have a very good month, are you?" she said sardonically as Crookshanks curled up in her lap.

"Ah well, at least I'm forwarned," Ron yawned.

"You seem to be drowning twice," Hermione said.

"Oh am I?" Ron said, peering down at his predictions. "I'd better change one of them to getting trampled by a rampaging hippogriff."

"Don't you think it's a bit obvious you've made these up?" Hermione said.

"How dare you!" Ron said, in mock outrage. "We've been working like house-elves here!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"It's just an expression," Ron said hastily.

Harry laid down his quill too. I pulled it toward me and looked through it. Apparently he'd just finished predicting his own death by decapitation.

"What's in the box?" he asked, pointing at it.

"Funny you should ask," Hermione said, with a nasty look at Ron. She took off the lid and showed us the contents.

Inside were about fifty badges, all of different colors, but all bearing the same letters: S.P.E.W.

" 'Spew'?" Harry said, picking up a badge and looking at it. "What's this about?"

"Now _spew_," Hermione said impatiently. "It's S-P-E-W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

"Never heard of it," Ron said.

"Well, of course you haven't," Hermione said briskly, "I've only just started it."

"Yeah?" Ron said in mild surprise. "How many members have you got?"

"Well - if you join - four," Hermione said.

"And you think we want to walk around wearing badges saying 'spew,' do you?" Ron said.

"S-P-E-W!" Hermione said hotly. "I was going to put _Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status_ - but it wouldn't fit. So that's the heading of our manifesto."

She brandished the sheaf of parchment at us.

"I've been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now."

"Hermione - open your ears," Ron said loudly. "They. Like. It. They _like_ being enslaved!"

"Our short-term aims," Hermione said, speaking even more loudly than Ron, and acting as though she hadn't heard a word, "are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they're shockingly underrepresented."

"And how do we do all this?" Harry asked.

"We start by recruiting members," Hermione said happily. "I thought two Sickles to join - that buys a badge - and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You're treasurer, Ron - I've got you collecting tin upstairs - and Harry, you're secretary, so you might want to write down everything I'm saying now, as a record of our first meeting. Chey, you're Vice President. You help me with organizing meetings and making important descisions that can affect our organization."

There was a pause in which Hermione beamed at the three of us, and Harry and I sat, peering at each other, torn between exasperation at Hermione and amusement at the look on Ron's face. The silence was broken, not by Ron, who in any case looked as though he was temporarily dumbstruck, but by a soft _tap, tap_ on the window. Harry and I looked across the now empty common room and saw, illuminated by the moonlight, a couple of owls, one snowy and one raven black, perched on the windowsill.

"Hedwig/Elon!' we shouted, and we launched ourselves out of our chairs and across the room to pull open the window.

Hedwig and Elon flew inside, soared across the room, and landed on the table on top of Harry's predictions.

"About time!" Harry said as we hurried after them.

"They've got an answer!" Ron said excitedly, pointing at the grubby piece of parchment tied to Hedwig's leg.

Harry hastily untied it and sat down to read, whereupon Hedwig fluttered onto his knee, hooting softly. Elon perched on my shoulder, ruffled his feathers and nuzzled my cheek. I peered over Harry's shoulder.

"What does it say?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

The letter was very short, and looked as though it had been scrawled in a great hurry. Harry read it aloud:

_Harry, Cheyenne -_

_I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scars is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If they hurt again, go straight to Dumbledore - they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is._

_I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep both your eyes open, Harry and Cheyenne._

_**Sirius**_

Harry and I looked up at Ron and Hermione, who stared back at us.

"He's flying north?" Hermione whispered. "He's coming _back_?"

"Dumbledore's reading what signs?" Ron said, looking perplexed. "Harry, Chey - what's up?"

For Harry had just hit himself in the forehead with his fist, jolting Hedwig off his lap. I slumped in my chair, covering my face with my hands.

"We shouldn't've told him!" Harry said furiously.

"What are you on about?" Ron said in surprise.

"It's made him think he's got to come back!" Harry said as he slammed his fist on the table so that Hedwig landed on the back of Ron's chair, hooting indignantly. "Coming back, because he thinks we're in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with us! And I haven't got anything for you!' Harry snapped at Hedwig, who was clicking her beak expectantly,"you'll both have to go up to the Owlery if you both want food."

Hedwig gave him an extremely offended look and took off for the open window, cuffing him around the head with her outstretched wing as she went. Elon nuzzled my cheek again, but I hardly felt it and he took off as well, looking dejected.

"Harry, Chey," Hermione began, in a pacifying sort of voice.

"We're going to bed," Harry said shortly, standing and helping me to my feet. "See you in the morning."

I blankly followed him upstairs to his dormitory and climbed into his bed as he pulled on his pajamas. He climbed into his four-poster after me and tugged the red curtains closed around us before settling under the blankets with me. Neither of us was remotely tired.

If Sirius came back and got caught, it would be our, Harry and Cheyenne's faults. Why hadn't we kept our mouths shut? A few seconds' pain each and we'd had to blab...If we'd just had the sense to keep it to ourselves...

We heard Ron come up into the dormitory a short while later, but did not speak to him. For a long time, Harry and I lay there, him staring up at the dark canopy of his bed, while I traced invisible patterns on his shirt with my eyes. The dormitory was completely silent, and, had we been less preoccupied, Harry and I would have realized that the absence of Neville's usual snores meant that we were not the only ones lying awake.


	15. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Beauxbatons and Durmstrang**

Early next morning, Harry and I awoke with a plan fully formed in our minds, as though our sleeping brains had been working on it all night. We got up, he dressed, and I went to my room to change, then left the dormitories without waking Ron or Hermione, and went back down to the deserted common room. Here we took a piece of parchment from the table upon which his Divination homework still lay and wrote the following letter:

_Dear Sirius,_

_We reckon we just imagined our scars hurting, we were both half asleep when we wrote to you last time. There's no point coming back, everything's fine here. Don't worry about us, our heads feel completely normal._

_**Harry and Chey**_

We then climbed out of the portrait hole, up through the silent castle (held up only briefly by Peeves, who tried to overturn a large vase on us halfway along the fourth-floor corridor), finally arriving at the Owlery, which was situated at the top of West Tower.

The Owlery was a circular stone room, rather cold and drafty, because none of the windows had glass in them. The floor was entirely covered in straw, owl dropping, and the regurgitated skeletons of mice and voles. Hundreds upon hundreds of owls of every breed imaginable were nestled here on perches that rose right up to the top of the tower, nearly all of them asleep, though here and there a round amber eye glared at Harry and I as we passed. We spotted Hedwig and Elon nestled together between a barn own and a tawny, leaning against each other, and hurried over to them, sliding a little on the dropping-strewn floor.

It took us a while to persuade Hedwig to wake up and then to look at us, as she kept shuffling around on her perch, showing us her tail. Elon woke when he felt Hedwig moving about and blinked slowly at us, hooting sleepily. I pet his feathers apologetically and he leaned into my touch. Hedwig, however, was not so ready to forgive us, still evidently furious about our lack of gratitude the previous night. In the end, it was Elon who volunteered for the job as Hedwig had just turned her back on us again and refused to deliver the letter for us. He held his leg out for Harry to tie the letter to it and reluctently climbed onto his arm so he could carry him to the window. I followed them, gently stroking his feathers again.

"Please, Elon, find Sirius for us." I whispered softly as we paused at one of the glassless windows. "Before the dementors do."

Elon nuzzled my cheek and nipped Harry's ear, hooting softly in a reassuringly way. Then, spreading his wings, he took off into the runrise. Harry and I watched him fly out of sight with the familiar feeling of unease back in our stomachs. We had been so sure that Sirius's reply would alleviate our worries rather than increasing them.

"That was a _lie_," Hermione said sharply over breakfast, when we told her and Ron what we had done. "_Neither_ of us imagined your scars hurting and you both know it."

"So what?" Harry and I said. "He's not going back to Azkaban because of us."

"Drop it," Ron said sharply to Hermione as she opened her mouth to argue some more, and for once, Hermione heeded him, and fell silent.

Harry and I did our best not to worry about Sirius over the next couple of weeks. True, we could not stop ourselves from looking anxiously around every morning when the post owls arrived, nor, late at night before we went to sleep, prevent ourselves from seeing horrible visions of Sirius, cornered by dementors down some dark London street, but betweentimes we tried to keep our mind off our godfather. We wished we still had Quidditch to distract us; nothing worked so well on a troubled mind as a good, hard training session. On the other hand, our lessons were becoming more difficult and demanding than ever before, particularly Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts.

To our surprise, Professor Moody had announced that he would be putting the Imperius Curse on each of us in turn, to demonstrate its power and to see whether we could resist its effects.

"But - but you said it's illegal, Professor," Hermione said uncertainly as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the room. "You said - to use it against another human was -"

"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," Moody said, his magical eye swiveling onto Hermione and fixing her with an eerie, unblinking stare. "If you'd rather learn the hard way - when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely - fine by me. You're excused. Off you go."

He pointed one gnarled finger toward the door. Hermione went very pink and muttered something about not meaning that she wanted to leave. I saw Harry and Ron grin at each other and I rolled my eyes. We knew Hermione would rather eat bubotuber pus than miss such an important lesson.

Moody began to beckon students forward in turn and put the Imperius Curse upon them. Harry and I watched as, one of one, our classmates did the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room, singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it.

"Power," Moody growled, "you next."

Harry moved to stop me, his hand grabbing my wrist, but I smiled reassuringly at him and gently pulled away, stepping into the space that Moody had cleared of desks. Moody, who'd been watching us, beckoned Harry forward as well and told us to face each other. Moody raised his wand, pointed it at me, and said, _"Imperio!"_

It was the most wonderful feeling. I felt a floating sensation as every thought and worry in my head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. I stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching me.

And then I heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of my empty brain: _Kiss him...kiss Potter..."_

I looked up at my best friend and leaned forward obediently. Harry was looking confused.

_Kiss him...deep down, you know you want to..._

Why? Why do I _need_ to kiss Harry? Another voice had awoken in the back of my brain.

Rather strange thing to do. What about Fred? the voice said.

_Kiss Potter..._

No, I can't, I don't want to, thanks, the other voice said, a little more firmly...no, I don't want to, it's not right...

_Kiss him! NOW!_

The next thing I felt was considerable pain. I had both moved in to kiss him, yet recoiled at the same time - the result was my forehead smashing into Harry's chin. We both groaned and I scrambled back, tripping myself and falling back against Moody's desk.

"Now, _that's_ more like it!" Moody's voice growled, and suddenly, I felt the empty, echoing feeling in my head disappear. I remembered exactly what was happening and the pain in my forehead seemed to double.

"Look at that, you lot...Power fought! She fought it, and she damn near beat it! We'll try that again, Power, and the rest of you, pay attention - watch her eyes, that's where you see it - very good, Power, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling _you_!" I was put through the paces four more times in a row, until I could throw off the curse entirely. By then, my head was pounding furiously and I needed to sit down to recompose myself. Harry moved to rejoin the class.

"No, Potter," Moody growled, "you stay, it's your turn."

Harry moved back into the middle of the classroom. Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Harry, and said, _"Imperio!"_

I could see almost immediately the effects of the spell taking effect. A blissful look folded over his features, giving the impression that his mind had been wiped clean, leaving it blank. I could see his body slowly relax and the awareness of being watched fade slightly from his eyes.

I could almost hear the voice in Harry's head like it was happening to me once more.

Harry bent his knees obediently, looking ready to spring. It looked like the voice was telling him to jump, possibly onto Moody's desk? However, I could tell he was resisting the voice, just like I'd done. He struggled against the curse for several minutes before he jumped, but yet tried to prevent himself from jumping at the same time - he ended up smashing headlong into the desk, knocking it over, and, by the painful expression on his face, I could tell he'd probably just fractured both his kneecaps.

"_Yes_, Potter, _yes!_" Moody growled, and Harry suddenly looked like he'd just been brought back to earth. The pain doubled in his eyes.

"Look at that, you lot...Potter and Power fought! They fought it, and if she can beat it, so can he! We'll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention, like with Power - watch his eyes, that's where you see it - very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling _you two_!"

"The way he talks," Harry muttered as he hobbled out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class an hour later (Moody had insisted on putting Harry through his paces four times in a row, just as he did me, until Harry could throw off the curse entirely), "you'd think we were all going to be attacked any second."

"Yeah, I know," Ron said, who was skipping on every alternate step. He had had much more difficulty with the curse than Harry and I, though Moody assured him the effects would wear off by lunch-time. "Talk about paranoid..." Ron glanced nervously over his shoulder to check that Moody was definitely out of earshot and went on. "No wonder they were glad to get shot of him at the Ministry. Did you hear him telling Seamus what he did to that witch who shouted 'Boo' behind him on April Fools' Day? And when are we supposed to read up on resisting the Imperius Curse with everything else we've got to do?"

All the fourth years had noticed a definite increase in the amount of work we were required to do this term. Professor McGonagall explained why, when the class gave a particularly loud groan at the amount of Transfiguration homework she had assigned.

"You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education!" she told us, her eyes glinting dangerously behind her square spectacles. "Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer -"

"We don't take O.W.L.s till fifth year!" Dean Thomas said indignantly.

"Maybe not, Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Miss Granger and Miss Power remain the only people in this class who have managed to turn their hedgehogs into satisfactory pincushions. I might remind you that _your_ pincushion, Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!"

Hermione, who had turned rather pink again, seemed to be trying not to look too pleased with herself. I smiled lightly and started playing with my hair.

Harry and Ron were deeply amused when Professor Trelawney told them that they had received top marks for their homework in our next Divination class. She read out large portions of their predictions, commending them for their unflinching acceptance of the horrors in store for them - but they were less amused when she asked them to do the same thing for the month after next; both of them were running out of ideas for catastrophes.

Meanwhile Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic, had us writing weekly essays on the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century. Professor Snape was forcing us to research antidotes. We took this one seriously, as he had hinted that he might be poisoning one of us before Christmas to see if our antidote worked. Professor Flitwick had asked us to read three extra books in preparation for our lesson on Summoning Charms.

Even Hagrid was adding to our workload. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace given that nobody had yet discovered what they ate. Hagrid was delighted, and as part of our "project," suggested that we come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the skewts and make notes on their extraordinary behavior.

"I will not," Draco Malfoy said flatly when Hagrid had proposed this with the air of Father Christmas pulling an extra-large toy out of his sack. "I see enough of these foul things during lessons, thanks."

Hagrid's smile faded off his face.

"Yeh'll do wha' yer told," he growled, "or I'll be takin' a leaf outta Professor Moody's book...I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy."

The Gryffindors roared with laughter. Malfoy flushed with anger, but apparently the memory of Moody's punishment was still sufficiently painful to stop him from retorting. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I returned to the castle at the end of the lesson in high spirits; seeing Hagrid put down Malfoy was particularly satisfying, especially because Malfoy had done his very best to get Hagrid sacked the previous year.

When we arrived in the entrance hall, we found ourselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all millling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron, the tallest of us four, stood on tiptoe to see over the heads in front of us and read the sign aloud to us:

**TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT**

**THE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE ARRIVING AT 6 O'CLOCK ON FRIDAY THE 30TH OF OCTOBER. LESSONS WILL END HALF AN HOUR EARLY -**

"Brilliant!" Harry said. "It's Potions last thing on Friday! Snape won't have time to poison us all!"

**STUDENTS WILL RETURN THEIR BAGS AND BOOKS TO THEIR DORMITORIES AND ASSEMBLE IN FRONT OF THE CASTLE TO GREET OUR GUESTS BEFORE THE WELCOMING FEAST.**

"Only a week away!" Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff said, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. "I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him..."

"Cedric?" Ron said blankly as Ernie hurried off.

"Diggory," Harry and I said. "He must be entering the tournament."

"That idiot, Hogwarts champion?" Ron said as we pushed our way through the chattering crowd toward the staircase.

"He's not an idiot. You just don't like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch," Hermione said. "I've heard he's a really good student - _and_ he's a prefect."

She spoke as though this settled the matter.

"You only like him because he's _handsome_," Ron said scathingly.

"Excuse me, I don't like people just because they're handsome!" Hermione said indignantly.

Ron gave a loud false cough, which sounded oddly like _"Lockhart!"_

I rolled my eyes irritably, "Please, Cedric is _nothing_ like Lockhart was. That pompous windbag had no talent other than that he stole of those who'd really done them. Cedric actually has brains and a knack for something other than being a poser." I said, sighing. A strange look crossed Harry's face, looking like a mix of irritation and impatience, but I couldn't tell if it had been real or not as it disappeared as quickly as it had come and his face became a blank slate. I decided to ignore it.

The appearance of the sign in the entrance hall had a marked effect upon the inhabitants of the castle. During the following week, there seemed to be only one topic of conversation, no matter where Harry and I went: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumors were flying from student to student like highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from ourselves.

Harry and I noticed too that the castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armor were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics.

Other members of the staff seemed oddly tense too.

"Longbottom, kindly do _not_ reveal that you can't even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!" Professor McGonagall barked at the end of one particularly difficult lesson, during which Neville had accidentally transplanted his own ears onto a cactus.

When we went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, we found thaat the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts house: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers' table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sat down beside Fred and George at the Gryffindor table. Once again, and most unusually, they were sitting apart from everyone else and conversing in low voices. Ron led the way over to them.

"It's a bummer, all right," George was saying gloomily to Fred. "But if he won't talk to us in person, we'll have to send him the letter after all. Or we'll stuff it into his hand. He can't avoid us forever."

"Who's avoiding you?" Ron said, sitting down next to them.

"Wish you would," Fred said, looking irritated at the interruption.

"What's a bummer?" Ron asked George.

"Having a nosy git like you for a brother," George said.

I cleared my throat from where I'd taken a seat beside Fred, "Er, onto another subject. Have either of you got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?" Harry, catching on, said, "Thought any more about trying to enter?"

"I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn't telling," George said bitterly. "She just told me to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon."

"Wonder what the tasks are going to be?" Ron said thoughtfully. "You know, I bet we could do them, Harry. We've done dangerous stuff before..."

"Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven't," Fred said suddenly. "McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they've done the tasks."

"Who are the judges?" Harry asked.

"Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel," Hermione said, and almost everyone looked around at her, rather surprised, "because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage."

I sighed, knowing none of the others had read all the books she and I had, "It's all in _Hogwarts, A History._" I said impatiently. Hermione huffed in agreement, "Although, that book's not _entirely_ reliable. _A_ Revised _History of Hogwarts_ would be a more accurate title. Or _A Highly Biased and _Selective _History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School."_

"What are you on about?" Ron said, but Harry and I glanced at each other, both of us having an idea what was coming.

_"House-elves!"_ Hermione said, her eyes flashing. "Not once, in over a thousand pages, does _Hogwarts, A History_ mention that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!"

I huffed irritably and bit into a piece of bacon. Fred snuck a piece off my plate and took a bite, grinning. Neither my, Harry, nor Ron's lack of enthusiasm had done anything whatsoever to curb Hermione's determination to pursue justice for house-elves. True, both the boys had paid two Sickles for a S.P.E.W. badge, but I knew they'd only done it to keep her quiet. When offered the badge myself, I refused and would often take to ignoring her when she pestured me about not helping with the cause. It wasn't that I thought magical creatures didn't deserve equal rights and wages, it was that I was not going to force an apparently happy creature to abandon it's true nature just because someone thought it was wrong. As for Harry and Ron, their Sickles had been wasted; if anything, they seemed to have made Hermione more vociferous, even if I refused to join myself. She had been badgering Harry and Ron ever since, first to wear the badges, then to persuade others to do the same, and she had also taken to rattling around the Gryffindor common room every evening, cornering people and shaking the collecting tin under their noses.

"You do realize that your sheets are changed, your fires lit, your classrooms cleaned, and your food cooked by a group of magical creatures who are unpaid and enslaved?" she kept saying fiercely.

Some people, like Neville, had paid up just to stop Hermione from glowering at them. A few seemed mildly interested in what she had to say, but were reluctant to take a more active role in campaigning. Many regarded the whole thing as a joke.

Ron now rolled his eyes at the ceiling, which was flooding us in autumn sunlight, and Fred became extremely interested in his bacon (both twins had refused to buy a S.P.E.W. badge). George, however, leaned in toward Hermione.

"Listen, have you ever been down in the kitchens, Hermione?"

"No, of course not," Hermione said curtly. "I hardly think students are supposed to -"

"Well, we have," George said, indicating Fred, "loads of times, to nick food. And we've met them, and they're _happy_. They think they've got the best job in the world -"

"That's because they're uneducated and brainwashed!" Hermione began hotly, but her next few words were drowned out by the sudden whooshing noise from overhead, which announced the arrival of the post owls. Harry and I looked up at once, and saw Elon soaring toward us. Hermione stopped talking abruptly; she and Ron watched Elon anxiously as he fluttered down onto my shoulder, folded his wings, and held out his leg wearily.

I pulled off Sirius's reply and offered Elon my toast crusts, which he ate gratefully. Then, checking that Fred and George were safely immersed in further discussions about the Triwizard Tournament, I read out Sirius's letter in a whisper to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

_Nice try, Harry, Cheyenne._

_I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you both to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig and Elon, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me, just watch out for yourselves and each other. Don't forget what I said about your scars._

_**Sirius**_

"Why d'you have to keep changing owls?" Ron asked in a low voice.

"Hedwig and Elon'll attract too much attention," Hermione said at once. "They stand out. A snowy female and a raven black male owl that are usually together that keep returning to wherever he's hiding...I mean, neither of them are native birds, are they?"

I rolled up the letter and slipped it inside my robes, glancing silently at Harry, both of us wondering whether we felt more or less worried than before. We supposed that Sirius managing to get back without being caught was something. We couldn't deny either that the idea that Sirius was much nearer was reassuring; at least we wouldn't have to wait so long for a response every time we wrote.

"Thanks, Elon," I said, kissing his wing. He hooted sleepily, dipped his beak briefly into my goblet of pumpkin juice, then took off again, clearly desperate for a good long sleep in the Owlery.

There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; even Potions was more bearable than usual, as it was half an hour shorter. When the bell rang early, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, deposited our bags and books as we had been instructed, pulled on our cloaks, and rushed back downstairs into the entrance hall.

The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines.

"Weasley, straighten your hat," Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron. "Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair."

Parvati scowled and removed a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait.

"Follow me, please," Professor McGonagall said. "First years in front...no pushing..."

We filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening: dusk was falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest. Harry and I, standing between Ron and Hermione in the fourth row from the front, saw Dennis Creevey positively shivering with anticipation among the other first years.

"Nearly six," Ron said, checking his watch and then staring down the drive that led to the front gates. "How d'you reckon they're coming? The train?"

"I doubt it," Hermione said.

"How then? Broomsticks?" Harry suggested, looking up at the starry sky.

"I don't think so...not from that far away..."

"A Portkey?" Ron suggested. "Or they could Apparate - maybe you're allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?"

"You can't Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, how often do we have to tell you?" Hermione and I said impatiently.

We scanned the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing was moving; everything was still, silent, and quite as usual. I shivered, starting to feel cold and I could feel Harry shifting uncomfortably beside me. Taking the scarve off my neck, I wrapped it around him and pulled my collar up to stay warm. We wished they'd hurry up...Maybe the foreign students were preparing a dramatic entrance...We remembered what Mr. Weasley had said back at the campside before the Quidditch World Cup: "always the same - we can't resist showing off when we get together..."

And then Dumbledore called out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers -

"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where?" many students asked eagerly, all looking in different directions.

_"There!"_ a sixth year yelled, pointing over the forest.

Something large, much larger than a broomstick - or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks - was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time.

"It's a dragon!" shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely.

"Don't be stupid...it's a flying house!" Dennis Creevey said.

Dennis's guess was closer...As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, we saw a gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward us, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant.

The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed - then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backward onto a Slytherin fifth year's foot, the horses' hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.

Harry and I just had time to see that the door of the carriage bore a coat of arms (two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars) before it opened.

A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps He sprang back respectfully. Then Harry and I saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage - a shoe the size of a child's sled - followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman we had ever seen in our lives. The size of the carriage, and of the horses, was immediately explained. A few people gasped.

Harry and I had only ever seen one person as large as this woman in our lives, and that was Hagrid; we doubted whether there was an inch difference in their heights. Yet somehow - maybe simply because we were used to Hagrid - this woman (now at the foot of the steps, and looking around at the waiting, wide-eyed crowd) seemed even more unnaturally large. As she stepped into the light flooding from the entrance hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, oliver-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.

Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of us standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman.

Her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.

"My dear Madame Maxime," he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbly-dorr," Madam Maxime said in a deep voice. "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you," Dumbledore said.

"My pupils," Madam Maxime said, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.

Harry and I, our whole attention having been focused upon Madam Maxime, now noticed that about a dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madam Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. From what Harry and I could see of them (they were standing in Madam Maxime's enormous shadow), they were staring up at Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces.

" 'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime asked.

"He should be here any moment," Dumbledore said. "Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"

"Warm up, I think," Madam Maxime said. "But ze 'orses -"

"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them," Dumbledore said, "the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other - er - charges."

"Skrewts," Ron muttered to Harry and I, grinning.

"My steeds require - er - forceful 'andling," Madam Maxime said, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. "Zey are very strong..."

"I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job," Dumbledore said, smiling.

"Very well," Madam Maxime said, bowing slightly. "Will you please inform zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?"

"It will be attended to," Dumbledore said, also bowing.

"Come," Madame Maxime said imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.

"How big d'you reckon Durmstrang's horses are going to be?" Seamus Finnigan said, leaning around Lavender and Parvati to address Harry and Ron.

"Well, if they're any bigger than this lot, even Hagrid won't be able to handle them," Harry said. "That's if he hasn't been attacked by his skewts. Wonder what's up with them?"

"Maybe they've escaped," Ron said hopefully.

"Oh don't say that," Hermione said as she and I shuddered. "Imagine that lot loose on the grounds..."

We stood shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky. For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Madam Maxime's huge horses snorting and stamping. But then -

"Can you hear something?" Ron said suddenly.

Harry and I glanced at each other, listening; a loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting toward us from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner was moving along a riverbed...

"The lake!" Lee Jordan yelled, pointing down at it. "Look at the lake!"

From our position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, we had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water - except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks - and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake's floor...

What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirpool...and then Harry and I saw the rigging...

"It's a mast!" we said to Ron and Hermione.

Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glid toward the bank. A few moments later, we heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.

People were disembarking; we could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. All of them, Harry and I noticed, seemed to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle...but then, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, we saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair.

"Dumbledore!" he called heartily as he walked up the slope. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied.

Karkaroff had a fruity, uncruous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle we saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (finishing in a small curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own.

"Dear old Hogwarts," he said, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, and Harry and I noticed that his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd. "How good it is to be here, how good...Viktor, come along, into the warmth...you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold..."

Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, Harry and I caught a glimpse of a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He didn't need the punch on the arm Ron gave him, or the hiss in our ears, to recognize that profile.

"Harry, Chey - _it's Krum_!"


	16. Goblet of Fire

**Chapter Sixteen**

**The Goblet of Fire**

"I don't believe it!" Ron said, in a stunned voice, as the Hogwarts students filed back up the steps behind the party from Durmstrang. "Krum, Harry, Chey! _Viktor Krum!"_

"For heaven's sake, Ron, he's only a Quidditch player," Hermione said.

_"Only a Quidditch player?"_ Ron said, looking at her as though he couldn't believe his ears. "Hermione - he's one of the best Seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still at school!"

As we recrossed the entrance hall with the rest of the Hogwarts students heading for the Great Hall, Harry nad I saw Lee Jordan jumping up and down on the soles of his feet to get a better look at the back of Krum's head. Several sixth-year girls were frantically searching their pockets as they walked -

"Oh I don't believe it, I haven't got a single quill on me -"

"D'you think he'd sign my hat in lipstick?"

_"Really,"_ Hermione said loftily as we passed the girls, now squabbling over the lipstick.

_"I'm_ getting his autograph if I can," Ron said. "You haven't got a quill, have you, Harry?"

"Nope, they're upstairs in my bag," Harry said.

We walked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down. Ron took care to sit on the side facing the doorway, because Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students were still gathered around it, apparently unsure about where they should sit. The students from Beauxbatons had chosen seats at the Ravenclaw table. They were looking around the Great Hall with glum expressions on their faces. Three of them were still clutching scarves and shawls around their heads.

"It's not _that_ cold," Hermione said defensively. "Why didn't they bring cloaks?"

"Over here! Come and sit over here!" Ron hissed. "Over here! Hermione, budge up, make a space -"

"What?"

"Too late," Ron said bitterly.

Viktor Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students had settled themselves at the Slytherin table. Harry and I could see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looking very smug about this. As we watched, Malfoy bent forward to speak to Krum.

"Yeah, that's right, smarm up to him, Malfoy," Ron said scathingly. "I bet Krum can see right through him, though...bet he gets people fawning over him all the time...Where d'you reckon they're going to sleep? We could offer him a space in our dormitory, Harry...I wouldn't mind giving him my bed, I could kip on a camp bed."

Hermione snorted.

"They look a lot happier than the Beauxbatons lot," I said, nodding toward them.

The Durmstrang students were pulling off their heavy furs and looking up at the starry black ceiling with expressions of interest; a couple of them were picking up the golden plates and goblets and examining them, apparently impressed.

Up at the staff table, Filch, the caretaker, was adding chairs. He was wearing his moldy old tailcoat in honor of the occasion. Harry and I were surprised to see that he added four chairs, two on either side of Dumbledore's.

"But there are only two extra people," Harry said. "Why's Filch putting out four chairs, who else is coming?"

"Eh?" Ron said vaguely. He was still staring avidly at Krum.

When all the students had entered the Hall and settled down at their House tables, the staff entered, filing up to the top table and taking their seats. Last in line was Professor Dumbledore, Profesor Karkaroff, and Madam Maxime. When their headmistress appeared, the pupils from Beauxbatons leapt to their feet A few of the Hogwarts students laughed. The Beauxbatons party appeared quite unembarrassed, however, and did not resume their seats until Madam Maxime had sat down on Dumbledore's left-hand side. Dumbledore remained standing, and a silence fell over the Great Hall.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and - most particularly - guests," Dumbledore said, beaming around at the foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

One of the Beauxbatons girls still clutching a muffler around her head gave what was unmistakably a derisive laugh.

"No one's making you stay!" Hermione whispered, bristling at her. I rubbed her back, trying to keep her calm.

"The tournamenet will be officially opened at the end of the feast," Dumbledore said. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home."

He sat down, and Harry and I saw Karkaroff lean forward at once and engage him in conversation.

The plates in front of us filled with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of us than either Harry or I had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign.

"What's _that_?" Ron asked, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding.

"Bouillabaisse," Hermione said.

"Bless you," Ron said.

"It's _French_," Hermione said, "I had it on holiday summer before last. It's very nice."

"I'll take your word for it," Ron said, helping himself to black pudding.

The Great Hall seemed somehow much more crowded than usual, even though there were barely twenty additional students here; perhaps it was because their differently colored uniforms stood out so clearly against the black of the Hogwarts robes. Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep bloodred.

Hagrid sidled into the Hall through a door behind the staff table twenty minutes after the start of the feast. He slid into his seat at the end and waved at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I with a very heavily bandaged hand.

"Skrewts doing all right, Hagrid?" Harry called.

"Thrivin'," Hagrid called back happily.

"Yeah, I'll just bet they are," Ron said quietly. "Looks like they've finally found a food they like, doesn't it? Hagrid's fingers."

At that moment, a voice said, "Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"

It was the girl from Beauxbaton who had laughed during Dumbledore's speech. She had finally removed her muffler. A long sheet of silvery-blonde hair fell almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth.

Ron went purple. He stared up at her, opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out except a faint gurgling noise.

"Yeah, have it," Harry said, pushing the dish toward the girl.

"You 'ave finished wiz it?"

"Yeah," Ron said breathlessly. "Yeah, it was excellent."

The girl picked up the dish and carried it carefully off to the Ravenclaw table. Ron was still goggling at the girl as though he had never seen one before. I reached over and gently poked his still purple face. Harry started to laugh. The sound seemed to jog Ron back to his senses and he waved my hand away.

"She's a _veela_!" he said hoarsely to Harry and I.

"Of course she isn't!" Hermione said tartly. "I don't see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!"

But she wasn't entirely right about that. As the girl crossed the Hall, many boys' heads turned, and some of them seemed to have become temporarily speechless, just like Ron.

"I'm telling you, that's not a normal girl!" Ron said, leaning sideways so he could keep a clear view of her. "They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!"

"They make them okay at Hogwarts," Harry said without thinking, which subconsciously made my heart sputter and twist painful, which I thought was strange and which I pushed down forcefully, not wanting to think about it now. At the Ravenclaw table, Cho happened to be sitting only a few places away from the girl with the silvery hair.

"When you've both put your eyes back in," Hermione said briskly, "You'll be able to see who's just arrived."

She was pointinig up at the staff table. The two remaining empty seats had just been filled. Ludo Bagman was now sitting on Professor Karkaroff's other side, while Mr. Crouch, Percy's boss, was next to Madame Maxime.

"What are _they_ doing here?" Harry asked in surprise.

"They organized the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they?" I said, frowning some. " 'uppose they wanted to be here to see it start."

When the second course arrived we noticed a number of unfamiliar desserts too. Ron examined an odd sort of pale blancmange closely, then moved it carefully a few inches to his right, so that it would be clearly visible from the Ravenclaw table. The girl who looked like a veela appeared to have eaten enough, however, and did not come over to get it.

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now. Harry and I felt a slight thrill of excitement, wondering what was coming. Several seats down from us, Fred and George were leaning forward, staring at Dumbledore with great concentration.

"The moment has come," Dumbledore said, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket -"

"The what?" Harry muttered.

Ron shrugged.

" - just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation" - there was a smattering of polite applause - "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he looked so much more likable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced. Remembering him in his neat suit at the Quidditch World Cup, Harry and I thought he looked strange in wizard's robes. His toothbrush mustache and severe parting looked very odd next to Dumbledore's long white hair and beard.

"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madam Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."

At the mention of the word "champions," the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed our sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch.

Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students; Dennis Creevey actually stood on his chair to see it properly, but, being so tiny, his head hardly rose above anyone else's.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," Dumbledore said as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways...their magical prowess - their daring - their power of deduction - and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."

At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.

"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.

Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," Dumbledore said. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.

"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," Dumbledore said, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it had been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be enetered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of you name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."

"An Age Line!" Fred said, his eyes glinting, as we all made our way across the Hall to the doors into the entrance hall. "Well, that should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn't it? And once your name's in that goblet, you're laughing - it can't tell whether you're seventeen or not!"

"But I don't think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance," Hermione said, "we just haven't learned enough..."

"Speak for yourself," George said shortly. "You'll both try and get in, won't you, Harry, Chey?" A worried look flashed across Fred's face, but disappeared as quickly as it came.

Harry and I glanced at each other again, thinking briefly of Dumbledore's insistence that nobody under seventeen submit their name, but then the wonderful picture of ourselves winning the Triwizard Tournament filled our minds again...We wondered how angry Dumbledore would be if someone younger than seventeen _did_ find a way to get over the Age Line...

"Where is he?" Ron said, not listening to a word of the conversation, but looking through the crowd to see what had become of Krum. "Dumbledore didn't say where the Durmstrang people are sleeping, did he?"

But this query was answered almost instantly; we were level with the Slytherin table now, and Karkaroff had just bustled up to his students.

"Back to the ship, then," he was saying. "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"

Harry and I saw Krum shake his head as he pulled his furs back on.

"Professor, _I_ vood like some vine," one of the other Durmstrang boys said hopefully.

"I wasn't offering it to _you_, Poliakoff," Karkaroff snapped, his warmly paternal air vanishing in an instant. "I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy -"

Karkaroff turned and led his students toward the doors, reaching them at exactly the same moment as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I. Harry stopped and held his arm out to stop me and we paused to let him walk through first.

"Thank you," Karkaroff said carelessly, glancing at us.

And then Karkaroff froze. He turned his head back to Harry and I, and stared at us as though he couldn't believe his eyes. Behind their headmaster, the students from Durmstrang came to a halt too. Karkaroff's eyes moved slowly up each of our faces and fixed upon our scars. The Durmstrang students were staring curiously at Harry and I too. Out of the corners of our eyes, Harry and I saw comprehension dawn on a few of their faces. The boy with food all down his front nudged the girl next to him and pointed openly at my and Harry's foreheads.

"Yeah, that's Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power," a growling voice said from behind us.

Professor Karkaroff spun around. Mad-Eye Moody was standing there, leaning heavily on his staff, his magical eye glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang headmaster.

The color drained from Karkaroff's face as Harry and I watched. A terrible look of mingled fury and fear came over him.

"You!" he said, staring at Moody as though unsure he was really seeing him.

"Me," Moody said grimly. "And unless you've got anything to say to Potter and Power, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway."

It was true; half the students in the Hall were now waiting behind us, looking over one another's shoulders to see what was causing the holdup.

Without another word, Professor Karkaroff swept his students away with him. Moody watched him until he was out of sight, his magical eye fixed upon his back, a look of intense dislike upon his mutilated face.

As the next day was Saturday, most students would normally have breakfasted late. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, however, were not alone in rising much earlier than we usually did on weekends. When we went down into the entrance hall, we saw about twenty people milling around it, some of them eating toast, all examining the Goblet of Fire. It had been placed in the center of the hall on the stool that normally bore the Sorting Hat. A thin golden line had been traced on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around it in every direction.

"Anyone put their name in yet?" Ron asked a third-year girl eagerly.

"All the Durmstrang lot," she replied. "But I haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts yet."

"Bet some of them put it in last night after we'd all gone to bed," Harry said. "I would've if it had been me...wouldn't have wanted everyone watching. What if the goblet just gobbed you right back out again?"

Someone laughed behind Harry. Turning, we saw Fred, George, and Lee Jordan hurrying down the staircase, all three of them looking extremely excited.

"Done it," Fred said in a triumphant whisper to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I. "Just taken it."

"What?" Ron asked.

"The Aging Potion, dung brains," Fred said.

"One drop each," George said, rubbing his hand together with glee. "We only need to be a few months older."

"We're going to split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wings," Lee said, grinning broadly.

"I'm not sure this is going to work, you know," Hermione said warningly. "I'm sure Dumbledore will have thought of this."

Fred, George, and Lee ignored her.

"Ready?" Fred said to the other two, quivering with excitement. "C'mon, then - I'll go first -"

Harry and I watched, fascinated, as Fred pulled a slip of parchment out of his pocket bearing the words _Fred Weasley - Hogwarts._ Fred walked right up to the edge of the line and stood there, rocking on his toes like a diver preparing for a fifty-foot drop. Then, with the eyes of every person in the entrance hall upon him, he took a great breath and stepped over the line.

For a split second I thought it had worked - George certainly thought so, for he let out a yell of triumph and leapt after Fred - but next moment, there was a loud sizzling sound, and both twins were hurled out of the golden circle as though they had been thrown by an invisible shot-putter. They landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor. I ran over to see if they were all right and knelled next to Fred. As though to add insult to injury, there was a loud popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical long white beards.

The entrance hall rang with laughter. Even Fred and George joined in, once they had gotten to their feet and taken a good look at each other's beards. I joined in, too, even though I'd been worried just seconds before.

"I did warn you," a deep, amused voice said, and everyone turned to see Professor Dumbledore coming out of the Great Hall. He surveyed Fred and George, his eyes twinkling. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards are anything as fine as yours."

Fred and George set off for the hospital wing, accompanied by Lee, who was howling with laughter, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, still chortling, went in to breakfast.

The decorations in the Great Hall had changed this morning. As it was Halloween, a cloud of live bats was fluttering around the enchanted ceiling, while hundreds of carved pumpkins leered from every corner. Harry led the way over to Dean and Seamus, who were discussing those Hogwarts students of seventeen or over who might be entering.

"There's a rumor going around that Warrington got up early and put his name in," Dean told Harry. "That big bloke from Slytherin who looks like a sloth."

Harry and I, who had played Quidditch against Warrington, shook our heads in disgust.

"We can't have a Slytherin champion!"

"Do you know how much more intolerable the Slytherins would become if a champion from their House was chosen!"

"And all the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory," Seamus said contemptuously. "But I wouldn't have though he'd have wanted to risk his good looks."

"Listen!" Hermione said suddenly.

People were cheering out in the entrance hall. We all swiveled around in our seats and saw Angelina Johnson coming into the Hall, grinning in an embarrassed sort of way. A tall black girl who played Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Angelina came over to us, sat down, and said, "Well, I've done it! Just put my name in!"

"You're kidding!" Ron said, looking impressed.

"Are you seventeen, then?" Harry asked.

" 'Course she is, can't see a beard, can you?" Ron said.

"I had my birthday last week," Angelina said.

"Well, I'm glad someone from Gryffindor's entering," Hermione said. "I really hope you get it Angelina!"

"Thanks, Hermione," Angelina said, smiling at her.

"Yeah, better you than Pretty-Boy Diggory," Seamus said, causing several Hufflepuffs passing our table to scowl heavily at him.

"What're we going to do today, then?" Ron asked Harry, Hermione, and I when we had finished breakfast and were leaving the Great Hall.

"We haven't been down to visit Hagrid yet," Harry said.

"Okay," Ron said, "just as long as he doesn't ask us to donate a few fingers to the skrewts.

A look of great excitement suddenly dawned on Hermione's face.

"I've just realized - I haven't asked Hagrid to join S.P.E.W. yet!" she said brightly. "Wait for me, will you, while I nip upstairs and get the badges?"

"What is it with her?" Ron said, exasperated, as Hermione ran away up the marble staircase.

"Hey, Ron," Harry said suddenly. "It's your friend..."

The students from Beauxbatons were coming through the front doors from the grounds, among them, the veela-girl. Those gathered around the Goblet of Fire stood back to let them pass, watching eagerly.

Madam Maxime entered the hall behind her students and organized them into a line. One by one, the Beauxbatons students stepped across the Age Line and dropped their slips of parchment into the blue-white flames. As each name entered the fire, it turned briefly red and emitted sparks.

"What d'you reckon'll happen to the ones who aren't chosen?" Ron muttered to Harry and I as the veela-girl dropped her parchment into the Goblet of Fire. "Reckon they'll go back to school, or hang around to watch the tournament?"

"Dunno," Harry said. "Hang around, I suppose...Madame Maxime's staying to judge, isn't she?"

When all the Beauxbatons students had submitted their names, Madam Maxime led them back out of the hall and out onto the grounds again.

"Where are _they_ sleeping, then?" Ron said, moving toward the front doors and staring after them.

A loud rattling noise behimd us announced Hermione's reappearance with the box of S.P.E.W. badges.

"Oh good, hurry up," Ron said, and he jumped down the stone steps, keeping his eyes on the back of the veela-girl, who was now halfway across the lawn with Madam Maxime.

As we neared Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the mystery of the Beauxbatons' sleeping quarters was solved. The gigantic powder-blue carriage in which they had arrived had been parked two hundred yards from Hagrid's front door, and the students were climbing back inside it. The elephantine flying horses that had pulled the carriage were now grazing in a makeshift paddock alongside it.

Harry knocked on Hagrid's door, and Fang's booming barks answered instantly.

" 'Bout time!" Hagrid said, when he'd flung open the door. "Thought you lot'd forgotten where I live!"

"We've been really busy, Hag -" Hermione started to say, but then she stopped dead, looking up at Hagrid, apparently lost for words.

Hagrid was wearing his best (and very horrible) hairy brown suit, plus a checked yellow-and-orange tie. This wasn't the worst of it, though; he had evidently tried to tame his hair, using large quantities of what appeared to be axle grease. It was now slicked down into two bunches - perhaps he had tried a ponytail like Bill's, but found he had too much hair. The look didn't really suit Hagrid at all. For a moment, Hermione goggled at him, then, obviously deciding not to comment, she said, "Erm - where are the skrewts?"

"Out by the pumpkin patch," Hagrid said happily. "They're gettin' massive, mus' be nearly three foot long now. On'y trouble is, they've started killin' each other."

"Oh no, really?" Hermione said as I nudged Ron, who had been staring at Hagrid's odd hairstyle, and had just opened his mouth to say something about it.

"Yeah," Hagrid said sadly. " 'S' okay, I've got 'em in separate boxes now. Still got abou' twenty."

"Well, that's lucky," Ron said. Hagrid missed the sarcasm.

Hagrid's cabin comprised a single room, in one corner of which was a gigantic bed covered in a patchwork quilt. A similarly enormous wooden table and chairs stood in front of the fire beneath the quantity of cured hams and dead birds hanging from the ceiling. We sat down at the table while Hagrid started to make tea, and were soon immersed in yet more discussion of the Triwizard Tournament. Hagrid seemed quite as excited about it as we were.

"You wait," he said, grinning. "You jus' wait. Yer going ter see some stuff yeh've never seen before. Firs' task...ah, but I'm not supposed ter say."

"Go on, Hagrid!" Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I urged him, but he just shook his head, grinning.

"I don' want ter spoil it fer yeh," Hagrid said. "But it's gonna be spectacular, I'll tell yeh that. Them champions're going ter have their work cut out. Never thought I'd live ter see the Triwizard Tournament played again!"

We ended up having lunch with Hagrid, though we didn't eat much - Hagrid had made what he said was a beef casserole, but after Hermione unearthed a large talon in hers, she, Harry, Ron, and I rather lost our appetites. However, we enjoyed ourselves trying to make Hagrid tell us what the tasks in the tournament were going to be, speculating which of the entrants were likely to be selected as champions, and wondering whether Fred and George were beardless yet.

A light rain had started to fall by midafternoon; it was very cozy sitting by the fire, listening to the gentle patter of the drops on the window, watching Hagrid darning his socks and arguing with Hermione about house-elves - for he flatly refused to join S.P.E.W. when she showed him her badges.

"It'd be doin' 'em an unkindness, Hermione," he said gravely, threading a massive bone needle with thick yellow yarn. "It's in their nature ter look after humans, that's what they like, see? Yeh'd be makin' 'em unhappy ter take away their work, an' insultin' 'em if yeh tried ter pay 'em."

"But Harry and Chey set Dobby free, and he was over the moon about it!" Hermione said. _"And_ we heard he's asking for wages now!"

"Yeah, well, yeh get weirdos in every breed. I'm not sayin' there isn't the odd elf who'd take freedom, but yeh'll never persuade most of 'em ter do it - no, nothin' doin', Hermione."

Hermione looked very cross indeed and stuffed her box of badges back into her cloak pocket.

By half past five it was growing dark, and Ron, Harry, Hermione, and I decided it was time to get back up to the castle for the Halloween feast - and, more important, the announcement of the school champions.

"I'll come with yeh," Hagrid said, putting away his darning, "Jus' give us a sec."

Hagrid got up, went across to the chest of drawers beside his bed, and began searching for something inside it. We didn't pay too much attention until a truly horrible smell reached our nostrils. Coughing, Ron said, "Hagrid, what's that?"

"Eh?" Hagrid said, turning around with a large bottle in his hand. "Don' yeh like it?"

"Is that aftershave?" Hermione said in a slightly choked voice.

"Er - eau de cologne," Hagrid muttered. He was blushing. "Maybe it's a bit much," he said gruffly. "I'll go take it off, hang on..."

He stumped out of the cabin, and we saw him washing himself vigorously in the water barrel outside the window.

"Eau de cologne?" I said in amazement, _"Hagrid?"_

"And what's with the hair and the suit?" Harry said in an undertone.

"Look!" Ron said suddenly, pointing out of the window.

Hagrid had just straightened up and turned 'round. If he had been blushing before, it was nothing to what he was doing now. Getting to our feet very cautiously, so that Hagrid wouldn't spot us, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I peered through the window and saw that Madame Maxime and the Beauxbaton students had just emerged from their carriage, clearly about to set off for the feast too. We couldn't hear what Hagrid was saying, but he w as talking to Madam Maxime with a rapt, misty-eyed expression Harry and I had only ever seen him wear once before - when he had been looking at the baby dragon, Norbert.

"He's going up to the castle with her!" Hermione said indignantly. "I thought he was waiting for us!"

Without so much as a backward glance at his cbain, Hagrid was trudging off up the grounds with Madam Maxime, the Beauxbatons sutdents following in their wake, jogging to keep up with their enormous strides.

"He fancies her!" Ron said incredulously. "Well, if they end up having children, they'll be setting a world record - bet any baby of theirs would weigh about a ton."

We let ourselves out of the cabin and shut the door behind us. It was surprisingly dark outside. Drawing our cloaks more closely around ourselves, we set off up the sloping lawns.

"Ooh it's them, look!" Hermione whispered.

The Durmstrang party was walking up toward the castle from the lake. Viktor Krum was walking side by side with Karkaroff, and the other Durmstrang students were straggling along behind them. Ron watched Krum excitedly, but Krum did not look around as he reached the front doors a little ahead of Hermione, Ron, Harry, and I and proceeded through them.

When we entered the candlelit Great Hall it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved; it was now standing in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the teachers' table. Fred and George - clean-shaven again - seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well.

"Hope it's Angelina," George said as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sat down.

"So do I!" I said breathlessly. "Well, we'll soon know!"

The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was our second feast in two days, neither Harry nor I seemed to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as we would have normally. Like everyone else in the Hall, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, Harry and I simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champion.

At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madam Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," Dumbledore said. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" - he indicated the door behind the staff table - "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging us into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting...A few people kept checking their watches...

"Any second," Lee Jordan whispered, two seats away from Harry. My hand slid silently along the table and touched Fred's. He turned it over and entwined his fingers with mine, giving a gentle squeeze.

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flames shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it - the whole room gasped.

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprises there!" Ron yelled as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Harry and I saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaroff boomed, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore said, "is Fleur Delacour!"

"It's her, Ron!" Harry shouted as the girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blond hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

"Oh look, they're all disappointed," Hermione said over the noise, nodding toward the remainder of the Beauxbatons party. "Disappointed" was a bit of an understatement, I thought. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms.

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement we could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next...

And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

"No!" Ron said loudly, but nobody heard him except for Harry and I; the uproar from the next table was too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, uncluding the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real -"

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him.

The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it another couple of pieces of parchment, which looked combined at the ends.

Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and sized the combined parchment. He held it out and stared at the names written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out -

_"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power."_


	17. The Five Champions

**Chapter Seventeen**

**The Five Champions**

Harry and I sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at us. We were stunned. We felt numb. We were surely dreaming. We had not heard correctly.

There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry and I as we sat, frozen, in our seats.

Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall had got to her feet and swept past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her, frowning slightly.

I glanced between Ron, Hermione, and Fred. Beyond Hermione and Ron, I saw the long Gryffindor table still watching us, openmouthed.

"We didn't put our names in," Harry and I said blankly. "You know we didn't."

All three stared just as blankly back.

At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall.

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power!" he called again. "Harry! Cheyenne! Up here, if you please!"

"Go on," Hermione whispered, giving Harry and I each a slight push. Fred hand tightened around my own and for a moment, he looked like he didn't want me to go, but with a gentle tug, I pulled free.

I pulled myself off the bench and turned to help Harry up. He stood, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled slightly. I caught and steadied him before we set off up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, taking each other's hands. It felt like an immensely long walk; the top table didn't seem to be getting any nearer at all, and we could feel hundreds and hundreds of eyes upon us, as though each were a searchlight. The buzzing grew louder and louder. After what seemed like an hour, we were right in front of Dumbledore, feeling the stares of all the teachers upon us.

"Well...through the door, Harry...Cheyenne..." Dumbledore said. He wasn't smiling.

Harry and I moved off along the teachers' table. Hagrid was seated right at the end. He did not wink at either of us, or wave, or give any of his usual signs of greetings. He looked completely astonished and stared at Harry and I as we passed like everyone else. Harry and I went through the door out of the Great Hall and found ourselves in a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite us.

The faces in the portraits turned to look at us as we entered. We saw a wizened witch flit out of the frame of her picture and into the one next to it, which contained a wizard with a walrus mustache. The wizened witch started whispering in his ear.

Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched-up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire. Fleur Delacour looked around when Harry and I walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair.

"What is it?" she asked. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"

She thought we had come to deliver a message. Neither Harry nor I knew how to explain what had just happened. We just stood there, looking at the three champions. It struck us how very tall all of them were.

There was a sound of scurrying feet behind us, and Ludo Bagman entered the room. He took Harry and I each by the arm and led us forward.

"Extraordinary!" he muttered, squeezing our arms. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen...lady," he added approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. "May I introduce - incredible though it may seem - the _fourth __**and**__ fifth_ Triwizard champions?"

Viktor Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed Harry and I. Cedric looked nonplussed. He looked from Bagman to Harry and myself, then back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her hair, smiling, and said, "Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman."

"Joke?" Bagman repeated, bewildered. "No, no, not at all! Harry and Cheyenne's names just came out of the Goblet of Fire!"

Krum's thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric was still looking politely bewildered. Fleur frowned.

"But evidently zair 'as been a mistake," she said contemptuously to Bagman. "Zey cannot compete. Zey are too young."

"Well...it is amazing," Bagman said, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Harry and I. "But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as their names' come out of the goblet...I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage...It's down in the rules, you're obliged...Harry and Cheyenne will just have to do the best they -"

The door behind us opened again, and a large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madam Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. Harry and I heard the buzzing of the hundreds of students on the other side of the wall, before Professor McGonagall closed the door.

"Madame Maxime!" Fleur said at once, striding over to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zat zes little kids are to compete also!"

Somewhere under my numb disbelief I felt a ripple of anger. _Little kids?_

Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candlefilled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin boson swelled.

"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly - dorr?" she said impatiently.

"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," Professor Karkaroff said. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. _"Three_ Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed three champions - or have I not read the rules carefully enough?"

He gave a short and nasty laugh.

_"C'est impossible,"_ Madam Maxime said, her enormous hand with its many superb opals resting upon Fleur's shoulder. " 'Ogwarts cannot 'ave three champions. It is most unjust."

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," Karkaroff said, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. "Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."

"It's no one's fault but Potter and Power's, Karkaroff," Snape said softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter and Power's determination to break rules. They have been crossing lines ever since they arrived here -"

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said firmly, and Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair.

Professor Dumbledore was now looking down at Harry and I, who looked right back at him, trying to discern the expression of the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles.

"Did either of you put your names into the Goblet of Fire, Harry, Cheyenne?" he asked calmly.

"No," Harry and I said together. We were very aware of everybody watching us closely. Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief in the shadows.

"Did either of you ask an older student to put them into the Goblet of Fire for you?" Professor Dumbledore said, ignoring Snape.

_"No,"_ Harry and I said vehemently.

"Ah, but of course zey're lying!" Madam Maxime cried. Snape was now shaking his head, his lip curling.

"They could not have crossed the Age Line," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "I am sure we are all agreed on that -"

"Dumbly - dorr must 'ave made a mistake wiz ze line," Madam Maxime said, shrugging.

"It is possible, of course," Dumbledore said politely.

"Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!" Professor McGonagall said angrily. "Really, what nonsense! Neither Harry nor Cheyenne could have crossed the line themselves, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that neither of them persuaded an older student to do it for them, I'm sure that should be good enough for everybody else!"

She shot a very angry look at Professor Snape.

"Mr. Crouch...Mr. Bagman," Karkaroff said, his voice unctuous once more, "you are our - er - objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?"

Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr. Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice.

"We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament."

"Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front," Bagman said, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madam Maxime, as though the matter was now closed.

"I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," Karkaroff said. He had dropped his unctuous tone and his smile now. His face wore a very ugly look indeed. "You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has three champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore."

"But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that," Bagman said. "The Goblet of Fire's just gone out - it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament -"

" - in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!" Karkaroff exploded. "After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!"

"Empty threat, Karkaroff," a voice growled from near the door. "You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?"

Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud _clunk._

"Convenient?" Karkaroff said. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody."

Harry and I could tell he was trying to sound disdainful, as though what Moody was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands gave him away; they had balled themselves into fists.

"Don't you?" Moody said quietly. "It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter and Power's names in that goblet knowing they'd have to compete if they came out. Their parchments being put together must mean that person hopes to get them at the same time."

"Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts three bites at ze apple!" Madam Maxime said.

"I quite agree, Madame Maxime," Karkaroff said, bowing to her. "I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic _and_ the International Confederation of Wizards -"

"If anyone's got reason to complain, it's Potter and Power," Moody growled, "but...funny thing...I don't hear _either_ of them saying a word..."

"Why should zey complain?" Fleur Delacour burst out, stamping her foot. "Zey 'ave ze chance to compete, don't zey? We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money - zis is a chance many would die for!"

"Maybe someone's hoping Potter and Power _are_ going to die for it," Moody said, with the merest trace of a growl.

An extremely tense silence followed these words. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, "Moody, old man...what a thing to say!"

"We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime," Karkaroff said loudly. "Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons."

"Imagining things, am I?' Moody growled. "Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put these two's names in that goblet..."

"Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?" Madam Maxime said, throwing up her huge hands.

"Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!" Moody said. "It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament...I'm guessing they submitted Potter and Power's names under a fourth and fifth school, to make sure they were the only ones in their categories..."

"You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody," Karkaroff said coldly, "and a very ingenious theory it is - though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you'll understand if we don't take you entirely seriously..."

"There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their adventage," Moody retorted in a menacing voice. "It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff - as you ought to remember..."

"Alastor!" Dumbledore said warningly. Harry and I wondered for a moment whom he was speaking to, but then realized "Mad-Eye" could hardly be Moody's real first name. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction - Karkaroff's face was burning.

"How this situation arose, we do not know," Dumbledore said, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. "It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Cedric, Harry, and Cheyenne have all been chosen to compete in the tournament. This, therefore, they will do...Although, it seems Cheyenne and Harry will have to work as a team, considering both their names came out together."

"Ah, but Dumbly - dorr -"

"My dear Madam Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it."

Dumbledore waited, but Madam Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn't the only one either. Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid; Bagman, however, looked rather excited. I shuffled uncomfortably behind Harry.

"Well, shall we crack on, then?" he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honors?"

Mr. Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie.

"Yes," he said, "instructions. Yes...the first task..."

He moved forward into the firelight. Close up, Harry and I thought he looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin that had not been there at the Quidditch World Cup.

"The first task is designed to rest your daring," he told Harry, Cedric, Fleur, Viktor, and I, "so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard...very important...

"The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges.

"The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."

Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore.

"I think that's all, is it, Albus?"

"I think so," Dumbledore said, looking at Mr. Crouch with mild concern. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?"

"No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry," Mr. Crouch said. "It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment...I've left young Weatherby in charge...Very enthusiastic...a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told..."

"You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?" Dumbledore said.

"Come on, Barty, I'm staying!" Bagman said brightly. "It's all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!"

"I think not, Ludo," Crouch said with a touch of his old impatience.

"Professor Karkaroff - Madam Maxime - a nightcap?" Dumbledore asked.

But Madam Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur's shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room. Harry and I could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence.

"Cheyenne, Harry, Cedric, I suggest you all go up to bed," Dumbledore said, smiling at the three of us. "I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise."

Harry and I glanced at Cedric, who nodded, and we left together.

The Great Hall was deserted now; the candles had burned low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality.

"So," Cedric said, with a slight smile. "We're playing against each other again!"

"I s'pose," Harry said. Neither of us could think of anything to say. The inside of our heads seemed to be in complete disarray, as though our brains had been ransacked.

"So...tell me..." Cedric said as we reached the entrance hall, which was now lit only by torches in the absence of the Goblet of Fire. "How _did_ you two get your names in?"

"We didn't," Harry and I said together, staring up at him. "We didn't put them in. We were telling the truth."

"Ah...okay," Cedric said. Harry and I could tell Cedric didn't believe either of us. "Well...see you, then."

Instead of going up the marble staircase, Cedric headed for a door to its right. Harry and I stood listening to him going down the stone steps beyond it, then, slowly, we started to climb the marble ones.

Was anyone except Ron and Hermione going to believe us, or would they all think we'd put ourselves in for the tournament? Yet how could anyone think that, when we were facing competitors who'd had three years' more magical education than we had - when we were now facing tasks that not only sounded very dangerous, but which were to be performed in front of hundreds of people? Yes, we'd thought about it...we fantasized about it...but it had been a joke, really, an idle sort of dream...we'd never really _seriously_ considered entering...

But someone else had considered it...someone else had wanted us in the tournamnet, and had made sure we were entered. Why? To give us a treat? We didn't think so, somehow...

To see us make fools of ourselves? Well, they were likely to get their wish...

But to get us _killed_?

Was Moody just being his usual paranoid self? Couldn't someone have put my and Harry's names in the goblet as a trick, a practical joke? Did anyone really want us dead?

Harry and I were able to answer that at once. Yes, someone wanted both of us dead, someone had wanted us dead ever since we had been one year olds...Lord Voldemort. But how could Voldemort have ensured that my and Harry's names got into the Goblet of Fire? Voldemort was supposed to be far away, in some distant country, in hiding, alone...feeble and powerless...

Yet in that dream we had had, just before we had awoken with our scars hurting, Voldemort had not been alone...he had been talking to Wormtail...plotting my and Harry's murders...

Harry and I got a shock to find ourselves facing the Fat Lady already. We had barely noticed where our feet were carrying us. It was also a surprise to see that she was not alone in her frame. The wizened witch who had flitted into her neighbor's painting when we had joined the champions downstairs was now sitting smugly beside the Fat Lady. She must have dashed through every picture lining seven staircases to reach here before us. Both she and the Fat Lady were looking down at us with the keenest interest.

"Well, well, well," the Fat Lady said, "Violet's just told me everything. Who's just been chosen as school champions, then?"

"Balderdash," Harry said dully.

"It most certainly isn't!" the pale witch said indignantly.

"No, no, Vi, it's the password," the Fat Lady said soothingly, and she swung forward on her hinges to let Harry and I into the common room.

The blast of noise that met my and Harry's ears when the portrait opened almost knocked us backward. Next thing we knew, we were being wrenched inside the common room by about a dozen pairs of hands, and were facing the whole of Gryffindor House, all of whom were screaming, applauding, and whistling.

"You both should've told us you'd entered!" Fred bellowed; he looked part annoyed, part deeply impressed, and part...worried?

"How did you do it without getting beards? Brilliant!" George roared.

"We didn't," Harry and I said. "We don't know how -"

But Angelina had now swooped down upon us; "Oh if it couldn't be me, at least its a couple of Gryffindors -"

"You'll be able to pay back Diggory for that last Quidditch match, Harry, Cheyenne!" Katie Bell shrieked, another of the Gryffindor Chasers.

"We've got food, come and have some -"

"We're not hungry, we had enough at the feast -"

But nobody wanted to hear that we weren't hungry; nobody wanted to hear that we hadn't put our names in the goblet; not one single person seemed to have noticed that we weren't at all in the mood to celebrate...Lee Jordan had unearthed a Gryffindor banner from somewhere, and he insisted on draping it around the two of us like cloaks. Neither Harry nor I could get away; whenever we tried to sidle over to the staircase up to the dormitories, the crowd around us closed ranks, forcing another butterbeer on us, stuffing crisps and peanuts into our hands...Everyone wanted to know how we had done it, how we had tricked Dumbledore's Age Line and managed to get our names into the goblet...

"We didn't," we said, over and over again, "We don't know how it happened."

But for all the notice anyone took, we might just as well not have answered at all.

"We're tired!" he bellowed finally, after nearly half an hour, and I could feel his hand grab mine through the crowd. "No, seriously, George - we're going to bed -"

We wanted more than anything to find Ron and Hermione, to find a bit of sanity, but neither of them seemed to be in the common room. Insisting that we needed to sleep, and almost flattening the little Creevey brothers as they attempted to waylay us at the foot of the stairs, Harry and I managed to shake everyone off and climb up to the dormitory as fast as we could.

To our great relief, we found Ron was lying on his bed in the otherwise empty dormitory, still fully dressed. He looked up when Harry slammed the door behind us.

"Where've you been?" Harry said.

"Oh hello," Ron said.

He was grinning, but it was a very odd, strained sort of grin. Harry and I suddenly became aware that we were still wearing the scarlet Gryffindor banner that Lee had tied around us. We hastened to take it off, but it was knotted very tightly. Ron lay on the bed without moving, watching us struggle to remove it.

"So," he said, when Harry and I had finally removed the banner and thrown it into a corner. "Congratulations."

"What d'you mean, congratulations?" Harry said, staring at Ron as I flopped face down on his bed. There was definitely something wrong with the way Ron was smiling: It was more like a grimace. I didn't want to look at it anymore.

"Well...no one else got across the Age Line," Ron said. "Not even Fred and George. What did you both use - the Invisibility Cloaks?"

"The Invisibility Cloaks wouldn't have gotten Chey and I over that line," Harry said slowly.

"Oh right," Ron said. "I thought you might've told me if it was the cloaks...because they would've covered all three of us, wouldn't they? But you found another way, did you? Did Chey use her book smarts to find a way? She was always good at that..."

"Listen!" Harry ground out as I flipped onto my back to watch them, "We didn't put our names in that goblet. Someone else must've done it."

Ron raised his eyebrows.

"What would they do that for?"

"We..." Harry drifted off for a moment and we exchanged glances. "don't...really know..." I knew we both felt it would sound very melodramatic to say, "To kill us."

Ron's eyebrows rose so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair.

"It's okay, you know, you both can tell _me_ the truth," he said. "If you don't want everyone else to know, fine, but I don't know why you're bothering to lie, you didn't get into trouble for it, did you? That friend of the Fat Lady's, that Violet, she's already told us all Dumbledore's letting you both enter...as a _team_. A thousand Galleons prize money, eh? And neither of you have to do end-of-year tests either..."

"We didn't put our names in that goblet!" Harry said, a cheesed off look crossing his face.

"Yeah, okay," Ron said, in exactly the same skeptical tone as Cedric. "Only you said this morning you'd have done it last night, and no one would've seen you...I'm not stupid, you know."

"You're doing a really good impression of it," Harry snapped.

"Yeah?" Ron said, and there was no trace of a grin, forced or otherwise, on his face now. "You want to get to bed, Harry...Cheyenne. I expect you'll both need to be up early tomorrow for a photo-call or something."

He wrenched the hangings shut around his four-poster, leaving Harry standing there by the door, and me laying on his bed, both of us staring at the dark red velvet curtains, now hiding one of the few people we had been sure would believe us.


	18. The Weighing of Wands

**Chapter Eighteen**

**The Weighing of the Wands**

When Harry and I woke up on Sunday morning, it took us both a moment to remember why we felt so miserable and worried. Then the memory of the previous night rolled over us. We sat up and ripped back the curtains of his four-poster, intending to talk to Ron, to force Ron to believe us - only to find that Ron's bed was empty; he had obviously gone down to breakfast.

I left Harry for my own dormitory so we could dress in privacy, then met him in the common room. The moment we both appeared, the people who had already finished breakfast broke into applause again. The prospect of going down into the Great Hall and facing the rest of the Gryffindors, all treating us like some sort of heros, was not inviting; it was that, however, or stay here and allow ourselves to be cornered by the Creevey brothers, who were both beckoning frantically to us to join them. Grabbing my hand, Harry led the way resolutely over to the portrait hole, pushed it open, climbed out first, and found himself face-to-face with Hermione.

"Hello," she said, holding up a stack of toast, which she was carrying in a napkin. "I brought you both this...Want to go for a walk?"

"Good idea," Harry and I said gratefully as he helped me out of the portrait hole.

We went downstairs, crossed the entrance hall quickly without looking in at the Great Hall, and were soon striding across the lawn toward the lake, where the Durmstrang ship was moored, reflected blackly in the water. It was a chilly morning, and we kept moving, munching our toast, as Harry and I told Hermione exactly what had happened after we had left the Gryffindor table the night before. To our immense relief, Hermione accepted our story without question.

"Well, of course I knew you hadn't entered yourselves," she said when we'd finished telling her about the scene in the chamber off the Hall. "The looks on your faces when Dumbledore read out your names! But the question is who _did_ put them in? Because Moody's right, Harry, Chey...I don't think any student could have done it...they'd never be able to fool the goblet, or get over Dumbledore's -"

"Have you seen Ron?" Harry interrupted.

Hermione hesitated.

"Erm...yes...he was at breakfast," she said.

"Does he still think we entered ourselves?"

"Well...no, I don't think so...not _really_," Hermione said awkwardly.

"What's that supposed to mean, 'not _really_'?"

"Oh Harry, isn't it obvious?" Hermione said despairingly. "He's jealous!"

_"Jealous?"_ Harry said incredulously. "Jealous of what? He wants to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he?"

"No...no...I think I know what she's getting at, Harry." I said slowly, frowning some. "It's always us who get all the attention, we both know it is."

"I know it's neither of your faults," Hermione added quickly as Harry opened his mouth furiously.

"Right! Harry...Hermione knows we don't ask for it...but - well - think of his family. Ron's got all those brothers to compete against at home, and we're his best friends, and we're really famous - he's always shunted to one side whenever people see us, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I think this is just one time too many..."

"Great," Harry said bitterly. "Really great. Tell him from us we'll swap any time he wants. Tell him from us he's welcome to it...People gawping at our foreheads everywhere we go..."

"I'm not telling him anything," Hermione said shortly. "Tell him yourself. It's the only way to sort this out."

"We're not running around after him trying to make him grow up!" Harry said, so loudly that several owls in a nearby tree took flight in alarm. "Maybe he'll believe we're not enjoying ourselves once we've got our necks broken or -"

"OI! DON'T I GET A SAY IN THIS?!" I growled out, not liking to have them speaking for me. They were quiet a moment before Hermione broke the silence.

"That's not funny," Hermione said quietly. "That's not funny at all." She looked extremely anxious. "Harry...Chey...I've been thinking - you know what we've got to do, don't you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?"

"Yeah, give Ron a good kick up the -"

_"Write to Sirius_. You've both got to tell him what's happened. He asked you to keep him posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts...It's almost as if he expected something like this to happen. I brought some parchment and a quill out with me -"

"Come off it," Harry said, looking around to check that we couldn't be overheard, but the grounds were quite deserted. "he came back to the country just because our scars twinged. He'll probably come bursting right into the castle if we tell him someone's entered us in the Triwizard Tournament -"

_"He'd want us to tell him,"_ I said suddenly, worried. "Harry, Sirius is our godfather! He'll want to hear it from us...he'll find out anyway -"

"How?"

"Harry, this isn't going to be kept quiet," Hermione said, very seriously. "This tournament's famous, and you're both famous. I'll be really surprised if there isn't anything in the _Daily Prophet_ about you competing...You're both already in half the books about You-Know-Who, you know...and Chey's right: Sirius would rather hear it from you two, I know he would."

"Okay, okay, we'll write to him," Harry said, throwing his last piece of toast into the lake. We all stood and watched it floating there for a moment, before a large tentacle rose out of the water and scooped it beneath the surface. Then we returned to the castle.

"Whose owl are we going to use?" Harry asked as we climbed the stairs. "He told us not to use Hedwig and Elon again."

"Ask Ron if you can borrow -"

"I'm not asking Ron for anything," Harry said flatly.

"Well, borrow one of the school owls, then, anyone can use them," Hermione said.

We went up to the Owlery. Hermione gave Harry and I a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink, then strolled around the long lines of perches, looking at all the different owls, while Harry and I sat down against a wall and wrote our letter.

_Dear Sirius,_

_You told us to keep you posted on what's happening at Hogwarts, so here goes - we don't know if you've heard, but the Triwizard Tournament's happening this year and on Saturday night we got picked as a fourth and fifth champion...but we will count as fourth as we'll be working as a team. We don't know who put our names in the Goblet of Fire, because neither of us did. The other Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff._

I paused at this point and looked to my right, at Harry, thinking. It looked like we both had an urge to say something about the large weight of anxiety that seemed to have settled inside our chests since last night, but we couldn't think how to translate this into words, so I simply dipped my quill back into the ink bottle and wrote,

_Hope you're okay, and Buckbeak - __**Harry and Cheyenne**_

"Finished," he told Hermione, getting to his feet and helping me up. We both brushed straw off our robes as Hedwig came fluttering down onto his shoulder and held out her leg.

"We can't use you," Harry told her, looking around for the school owls. "We've got to use one of these..."

Hedwig gave a very loud hoot and took off so suddenly that her talons cut into his shoulder. She kept her back to us all the time we were tying our letter to the leg of a large barn owl. When the barn owl had flown off, Harry reached out to stroke Hedwig, but she clicked her beak furiously and soared up into the rafters out of reach.

"First Ron, then you," Harry said angrily. _"This isn't our faults."_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Harry and I had thought that matters would improve once everyone got used to the idea of us being champions, the following day showed us how mistaken we were. We could no longer avoid the rest of the school once we were back at lessons. - and it was clear that the rest of the school, just like the Gryffindors, thought Harry and I had entered ourselves for the tournament. Unlike the Gryffindors, however, they did not seem impressed.

The Hufflepuffs, who were usually on excellent terms with the Gryffindors, had turned remarkably cold toward the whole lot of us. One Herbology lesson was enough to demonstrate this. It was plain that the Hufflepuffs felt that Harry and I had stolen their champion's glory; a feeling exacerbated, perhaps, by the fact that Hufflepuff House very rarely got any glory, and that Cedric was one of the few who had ever given them any, having beaten Gryffindor once at Quidditch. Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley, with whom Harry and I normally got on very well, did not talk to us even though we were repotting Bouncing Bulbs at the same tray - though they did laugh rather unpleasantly when one of the Bouncing Bulbs wriggled free from Harry's grasp and smacked him hard in the face, for which I told them off. Ron wasn't talking to either of us. Hermione sat between us, making very forced conversation, but though Harry and Ron both answered her normally, they avoided making eye contact with each other. Harry and I thought even Professor Sprout seemed distant with us - but then, she was Head of Hufflepuff House.

We would have been looking forward to seeing Hagrid under normal circumstances, but Care of Magical Creatures meant seeing the Slytherins too - the first time we would come face-to-face with them since becoming champions.

Predictably, Malfoy arrived at Hagrid's cabin with his familiar sneer firmly in place.

"Ah, look, boys, it's the champions," he said to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he got within earshot of Harry and I. "Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt they're going to be around much longer...Half the Triwizard champions have died...how long d'you reckon you're both going to last, Powter? Ten mintues into the first task's my bet."

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, but Malfoy had to stop there, because Hagrid emerged from the back of his cabin balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt. To the class's horror, Hagrid proceeded to explain that the reason the skrewts had been killing one another was an excess of pent-up energy, and that the solution would be for each student to fix a leash on a skrewt and take it for a short walk. The only good thing about this plan was that it distracted Malfoy completely.

"Take this thing for a walk?" he repeated in disgust, staring into one of the boxes. "And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?"

"Roun' the middle," Hagrid said, demonstrating. "Er - yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus' as an extra precaution, like. Harry, Cheyenne - you both come here an' help me with this big one..."

Hagrid's real intention, however, was to talk to Harry and I away from the rest of the class. He waited until everyone else had set off with their skrewts, then turned to Harry and I, and said, very seriously, "So - yer competin', Harry, Cheyenne. In the tournament. School champions."

"Two of the champions," Harry and I corrected him.

Hagrid's beetle-black eyes looked very anxious under his wild eyebrows.

"No idea who put yeh in fer it, Harry, Chey?"

"You believe we didn't do it, then?" Harry and I said, concealing with difficulty the rush of gratitude we felt at Hagrid's words.

" 'Course I do," Hagrid grunted. "Yeh say it wasn' yeh two, an' I believe yeh - an' Dumbledore believes yeh, an' all."

"Wish we knew who _did_ do it," Harry and I said bitterly.

The three of us looked out over the lawn; the class was widely scattered now, and all in great difficulty. The skrewts were now over three feet long, and extremely powerful. No longer shell-less and colorless, they had developed a kind of thick, grayish, shiny armor. They looked like a cross between giant scorpions and elongated crabs - and still without recognizable heads or eyes. They had become immensely strong and very hard to control.

"Look like they're havin' fun, don' they?" Hagrid said happily. Harry and I assumed he was talking about the skrewts, because our classmates certainly weren't; every now and then, with an alarming _bang_, one of the skrewt's ends would explode, causing it to shoot forward several yards, and more than one person was being dragged along on their stomach, trying desperately to get back on their feet.

"An, I don't know, Harry...Cheyenne," Hagrid sighed suddenly, looking back down at us with a worried expression on his face. "School champions...everythin' seems ter happen ter yeh two, doesn' it?"

Neither Harry nor I answered. Yes, everything did seem to happen to us...that was more or less what Hermione had said as we had walked around the lake, and that was the reason, according to her, that Ron was no longer talking to us.

The next few days were some of my and Harry's worst at Hogwarts. The closest we had ever come to feeling like this had been during those months, in our second year, when a large part of the school had suspected us of attacking our fellow students. But Ron had been on our side then. We thought we could have coped with the rest of the school's behavior if we could just have had Ron back as a friend, but we weren't going to try and persuade Ron to talk to us if Ron didn't want to. Nevertheless, it was lonely with dislike pouring in on us from all sides.

We could understand the Hufflepuffs' attitude, even if we didn't like it; they had their own champion to support. We expected nothing less than vicious insults from the Slytherins - we were highly unpopular there and always had been, because we had helped Gryffindor beat them so often, both at Quidditch and in the Inter-House Championship. But we had hoped the Ravenclaws might have found it in their hearts to support us as much as Cedric. We were wrong, however. Most Ravenclaws seemed to think that we had been desperate to earn ourselves a bit more fame by tricking the goblet into accepting our names.

Then there was the fact that Cedric looked the part of a champion so much more than we did combined. Exceptionally handsome, with his straight nose, dark hair, and gray eyes, it was hard to say who was receiving more admiration these days, Cedric or Viktor Krum. Harry and I actually saw the same sixth-year girls who had been so keen to get Krum's autograph begging Cedric to sign their school bags one lunchtime.

Meanwhile there was no reply from Sirius, Hedwig was refusing to come anywhere near us, Professor Trelawney was predicting our deaths with even more certainty than usual, and he did so badly at Summoning Charms in Professor Flitwick's class that he was given extra homework - the only person to get any, apart from Neville.

"It's really not that difficult, Harry," Hermione tried to reassure him as we left Flitwick's class - she and I had been making objects zoom across the room to us all lesson, as though we were some sort of weird magnet for board dusters, wastepaper baskets, and lunascopes. "You just weren't concentrating properly -"

"Wonder why that was," Harry said darkly as Cedric Diggory walked past, surrounded by a large group of simpering girls, all of whom looked at Harry and I as though we were a couple of particularly large Blast-Ended Skrewts. "Still - never mind, eh? Double Potions to look forward to this afternoon..."

Double Potions was always a horrible experience, but these days it was nothing short of torture. Being shut in a dungeon for an hour and a half with Snape and the Slytherins, all of whom seemed determinded to punish Harry and I as much as possible for daring to become school champions, was about the most unpleasant thing either of us could imagine. We had already struggled through one Friday's worth, with Hermione sitting next to us intoning "ignore them, ignore them, ignore them" under her breath, and we couldn't see why today should be any better.

When Harry, Hermione, and I arrived at Snape's dungeon after lunch, we found the Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of his or her robes. For one wild moment Harry and I thought they were S.P.E.W. badges - then we saw that they all bore the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage:

**SUPPORT ****CEDRIC DIGGORY -**

**THE ****REAL**** HOGWARTS CHAMPION!**

"Like them, Powter?" Malfoy said loudly as Harry and I approached. "And this isn't all they do - look!"

He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowed green:

**POWTER STINKS**

The Slytherins howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges too, until the message _POWTER STINKS_ was shining brightly all around us. We felt the heat rise in our faces and necks.

"Oh _very_ funny," Hermione said sarcasticlly to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, "really _witty_."

Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. He wasn't laughing, but he wasn't sticking up for Harry and I either.

"Want one, Granger?" Malfoy said, holding out a badge to Hermione. "I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up." Some of the anger Harry and I had been feeling for days and days seemed to burst through a dam in our chests. I crossed over to Malfoy before I knew what I was doing and slapped the badge out of his hand, being sure to slap his hand as hard as I could. He recoiled as the badge skid backward up the corridor. Harry, meanwhile, had drawn his wand, making the people around us scramble out of the way, backing down the corridor.

"Harry!" Hermione said warningly.

"Go on, then, Potter," Malfoy said quietly then, using his slapped hand to draw out his own wand. Harry grabbed my wrist and pulled me behind him, out of range of the battle. "Moody's not here to look after you now - do it, if you've got the guts -"

For a split second, they looked into each other's eyes, then, at exactly the same time, both acted.

_"Furnunculus!"_ Harry yelled.

_"Densaugeo!"_ Malfoy screamed.

Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in midair, and ricocheted off at angles - Harry's hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy's hit Hermione. Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up - Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth.

"Hermione!"

Ron had hurried forward to see what was wrong with her; I snatched my hand from Harry's and ran over to see myself. Ron was dragging Hermione's hand away from her face. It wasn't a pretty sight. Hermione's front teeth - already larger than average - were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin - panic-stricken, she felt them and let out a terrified cry.

"And what is all this noise about?" came a soft, deadly voice.

Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explainations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain."

"Potter attacked me, sir -"

"We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouted.

" - and he hit Goyle - look -"

Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi.

"Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly.

"Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron and I said. _"Look!"_

We forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth - she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back.

Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference."

Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight.

It was lucky, perhpas, that both Harry and Ron started shouting at Snape at the same time; lucky their voices echoed so much in the stone corridor, for in the confused din, it was impossible for him, or any of us, to hear exactly what they were calling him. He got the gist, however.

"Let's see," he said, in his silkiest voice. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions."

My ears were ringing. The injustice of it made me want to curse Snape into a thousand slimy pieces. We passed Snape, walked with Ron to the back of the dungeon, and slammed our bags down onto the table. Ron was shaking with anger too - for a moment, it felt as thought everything was back to normal between us, but then Ron turned and sat down with Dean and Seamus instead, leaving Harry and I alone at our table. On the other side of the dungeon, Malfoy turned his back on Snape and pressed his badge, smirking. _POWTER STINKS_ flashed once more across the room.

Harry and I sat there staring at Snape as the lesson began, doodling horrific things that could happen to him on a spare piece of parchment...If only we knew how to do the Cruciatus Curse...we'd have Snape flat on his back like that spider, jerking and twitching...

"Antidotes!" Snape said, looking around at us all, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly. "You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one..."

Snape's eyes met Harry's, and I knew what was coming. Snape was going to poison _him_. I imagined picking up my cauldron, and sprinting to the front of the class, and bringing it down on Snape's greasy head -

And then a knock on the dungeon door burst in on my thoughts.

It was Colin Creevey; he edged into the room, beaming at Harry and I, and walked up to Snape's desk at the front of the room.

"Yes?" Snape said curtly.

"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power upstairs."

Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face.

"Potter and Power have another hour of Potions to complete," Snape said coldly. "They will come upstairs when this class is finished."

Colin went pink.

"Sir - sir, Mr. Bagman wants them," he said nervously. "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs..."

Harry and I would have given anything we owned to have stopped Colin saying those last few words. We chanced half a glance at Ron, but Ron was staring determinedly at the ceiling.

"Very well, very well," Snape snapped. "Potter, Power, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidotes."

"Please, sir - they've got to take their things with them," Colin squeaked. "All the champions -"

"Very _well_!" Snape said. "Potter, Power - take your bags and get out of my sight!"

Harry and I swung our bags over our shoulders, got up, and headed for the door. As we walked through the Slytherins desks, _POWTER STINKS_ flashed at us from every direction.

"It's amzing, isn't it?" Colin said, starting to speak the moment Harry had closed the dungeon door behind us. "Isn't it, though? You two being champions?"

"Yeah, really amazing," Harry and I said heavily as we set off toward the steps into the entrance hall. "What do they want photos for, Colin?"

"The _Daily Prophet_, I think!"

"Great," Harry said dully. "Exactly what we need. More publicity."

"Good luck!" Colin said when we had reached the right room. Harry knocked on the door and we entered.

We were in a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch neither Harry nor I had ever seen before, who was wearing magenta robes.

Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. Fleur looked a good deal happier than Harry and I had seen her so far; she kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.

Bagman suddenly spotted Harry and I, got up quickly, and bounded forward.

"Ah, here they are! The Hogwarts team: champions four and five! In you both come, Harry, Cheyenne, in you come...nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment -"

"Wand weighing?" Harry and I repeated nervously.

"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," Bagman said. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rite Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the _Daily Prophet_..."

"Maybe not _that_ small, Ludo," Rita Skeeter said, her eyes on Harry and I.

Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jeweled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.

"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry and Cheyenne before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry and I. "The youngest champions, you know...to add a bit of color?"

"Certainly!" Bagman cried. "That is - if Harry and Cheyenne have no objection?"

"Er -" Harry said.

"I don't real -" I started.

"Lovely," Rita Skeeter said, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had my and Harry's upper arms in surprisingly strong grips, and she was steering us out of the room again and opening a nearby door.

"We don't want to be in there with all that noise," she said. "Let's see...ah, yes, this is nice and cozy."

It was a broom cupboard. Harry and I stared at her.

"Come along, dears - that's right - lovely," Rita Skeeter said again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing Harry and I down onto a cardboard box, and closing the door, throwing us into darkness. "Let's see now..."

She unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and magicked into midair, so that we could see what we were doing.

"You don't mind, Harry, Cheyenne, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you both normally..."

"A what?" Harry and I asked.

Rita Skeeter's smile widened. Harry and I counted three gold teeth. She reached again into her crocodile bag and drew out a long acid-green quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out between us on a crate of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. She put the top of the green quill into her mouth, sucked it for a moment with apparent relish, then placed it upright on the parchment, where it stood balanced on its point, quivering slightly.

"Testing...my name is Rita Skeeter, _Daily Prophet_ reporter."

Harry and I looked down quickly at the quill. The moment Rita Skeeter had spoken, the green quill had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment:

_**Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations -**_

"Lovely," Rita Skeeter said, yet again, and she ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag. Now she leaned toward Harry and myself, and said, "So, Harry, Cheyenne...what made you two decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Er -" Harry said again as I watched the quill. Even though we weren't speaking, it was dasing across the parchment, and in its wake I could make out a fresh sentence:

_**A couple of ugly scars, souvenirs of a tragic past, disfigure the otherwise charming faces of Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, both their eyes -**_

"Ignore the quill, dears," Rita Skeeter said firmly. Reluctantly, we looked up at her instead. "Now - why did you two decide to enter the tournament, Harry, Cheyenne?"

"We didn't," Harry and I said. "We don't know how our names got into the Goblet of Fire. We didn't put them in there."

Rita Skeeter raised one heavily penciled eyebrow.

"Come now, you two, there's no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know neither of you should really have entered at all. But don't worry about that. Our readers love rebels."

"But we didn't enter," Harry repeated firmly. "We don't know who -"

"How do you two feel about the tasks ahead?" Rita Skeeter said. "Excited? Nervous?"

"We haven't really thought...yeah, nervous, we suppose," I said, my insides squirming uncomfortably as I spoke. My hand found his and he gave a weak squeeze.

"Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" Rita Skeeter said briskly. "Have either of you thought about that at all?"

"Well...they say it's going to be a lot safer this year," Harry said.

The quill whizzed across the parchment between us, back and forward as though it were skating.

"Of course, you've both looked death in the face before, haven't you?" Rita Skeeter said, watching us closely. "How would either of you say that's affected you?"

"Er," Harry said, yet again.

"Do either of you think that the trauma in your shared past might have made you both keen to prove yourselves? To live up to your names? Do you think that perhaps you were both tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because -"

_"We didn't enter,"_ Harry and I said, starting to feel irritated.

"Can either of you remember your parents at all?" Rita Skeeter said, talking over us.

"No," we replied.

"How do you think any of them would feel if they knew you were both competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?"

Harry and I were both feeling really annoyed now. How on earth were we to know how our parents would feel if they were all alive? We could feel Rita Skeeter watching us very intently. Frowning, we avoided her gaze and looked down at words the quill had just written:

_**Tears fill those startlingly green and hazel brown eyes as our conversation turns to the parents neither of them can remember.**_

"We have NOT got tears in our eyes," Harry said loudly.

Before Rita Skeeter could say a word, the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open. Harry and I looked around, blinking in the bright light. Albus Dumbledore stood there, looking down at the three of us, squashed into the cupboard.

_"Dumbledore!"_ Rita Skeeter cried, with every apperance of delight - but Harry and I noticed that her quill and parchment had suddenly vanished from the box of Magical Mess Remover, and Rita's clawed fingers were hasily snapping shut the clasp of her crocodile-skin bag. "How are you?" she said, standing up and holding out one of her large, mannish hands to Dumbledore. "I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"

"Enchantingly nasty," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat."

Rita Skeeter didn't look remotely abashed.

"I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards in the street -"

"I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita," Dumbledore said, with a courteous bow and a smile, "but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if two of our champions are hidden in a broom cupboard."

Very glad to get away from Rita Skeeter, Harry and I hurried back into the room. The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and we sat down quickly on Cedric's free side, looking up at the velvet-covered table, where four of the five judges were now sitting - Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman. Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner; Harry and I saw her slip the parchment out of her bag again, spread it on her knee, suck the end of the Quick-Quotes Quill, and place it once more on the parchment.

"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" Dumbledore said, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

Harry and I looked around, and with a jolt of surprise saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window. Harry and I had met Mr. Ollivander before - he was the wand-maker from whom Harry and I had bought our own wands over three years ago in Diagon Alley.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" Mr. Ollivander said, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.

Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

"Hmmm..." he said.

He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sprks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully.

"Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches...inflexible...rosewood...and containing...dear me..."

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," Fleur said. "One of my grandmuzzer's."

So Fleur _was_ part veela, Harry and I thought, looking at one another, making a mental note to tell Ron...then we remembered that Ron wasn't speaking to us.

"Yes," Mr. Ollivander said, "yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands...however, to each his own, and if this suits you..."

Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, _"Orchideous!"_ and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip.

"Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," Mr. Ollivander said, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. "Miss Power, you next."

Fleur glided back to her seat, glancing at me with contempt.

"Ah, this is one of mine! I remember it well." Mr. Ollivander said, with much more enthusiasm, as I handed over my wand. "Yes, I do remember it well. Eleven inches, pine, nice and supple. Core made of a phoenix feather." he ran his fingers over it to find any bumps or grooves. He took a great deal longer looking over my wand than he did Fleur's."Great condition."

I smiled, blushing, "I make sure to polish it once a week." I said softly.

Mr. Ollivander nodded, "Excellent work, Miss Power." He said, then waved my wand, said, _"Ferula."_ and a half dozen bandages shot out of the end and folded themselves on the floor at his feet. He pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Mr. Diggory, you next."

I gently took my wand and went to take my seat next to Harry once more. Cedric stepped up to Mr. Ollivander.

"Ah, another of mine, this is." Mr. Ollivander said, with just as much enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn...must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches...ash...pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition...You treat it regularly?"

"Polished it last night," Cedric said, grinning.

I saw Harry look down at his own wand out of the corner of my eye. He must have seen finger prints because he gathered a fistful of robe from his knee and tried to rub it clean surreptitiously. Several gold sparks shot out of the end of it. Fleur Delacour gave him a very patronizing look, and I glared back, taking Harry's wand and gently cleaning it with my own robes, being careful not to cause it to spark.

Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Mr. Krum, if you please."

Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck-footed, toward Mr. Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Hmm," Mr. Ollivander said, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I...however..."

He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes.

"Yes...hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he shot at Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees...quite rigid...ten and a quarter inches..._Avis!"_

The hornbeam wand let off a blast like a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.

"Good," Mr. Ollivander said, handing Krum back his wand. "Which leaves...Mr. Potter."

Harry got to his feet and walked past Krum to Mr. Ollivander. He handed over his wand.

"Aaaah, yes," Mr. Ollivander said, his pale eyes gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember it. Just as Miss Power's."

Harry and I could remember too. We could remember it as though it had happened yesterday...

Four summers ago, on his eleventh birthday, we had entered Mr. Ollivander's shop with Hagrid to buy our wands. Mr. Ollivander had taken our measurements and then started handing us wands to try. Harry and I had waved what felt like every wand in the shop, until at last we had found the ones that suited us - these ones, his made of holly, mine pine, both eleven inches long, and contained a single feather each from the tail of a phoenix. Mr. Ollivander had been very surprised that Harry and I had been so compatible with these wands. "Curious," he had said, "curious," and not until Harry and I asked what was curious had Mr. Ollivander explained that the phoenix feathers in my and Harry's wands had come from the same bird that had supplied the core of Lord Voldemort's.

Neither Harry nor I had ever shared this piece of information with anybody. We were very fond of our wands, and as far as we were concerned its relation to Voldemort's wand was something it couldn't help - rather as we couldn't help being related to Aunt Petunia. However, we really hoped that Mr. Ollivander wasn't about to tell the room about it. We had a funny feeling Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill might just explode with excitement if he did.

Mr. Ollivander spent much longer examining Harry's wand than anyone else's, just like mine. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.

"Thank you all," Dumbledore said, standing up at the judges' table. "You may go back to your lessons now - or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end -"

Feeling that at last something had gone right today, Harry and I got up to leave, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" Bagman cried excitedly. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"

"Er - yes, let's do those first," Rita Skeeter said, her eyes upon Harry and I again. "And then perhaps some individual shots."

The photographs took a long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadows wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl; Krum, whom Harry and I wuld have though would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Harry and I into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, we were free to go.

Harry and I went down to dinner. Hermione wasn't there - we supposed she was still in the hospital wing having her teeth fixed. We ate alone at the end of the table, then returned to Gryffindor Tower, him thinking of all the extra work on Summoning Charms that he had to do. I followed him once more up to his dormitory to help him get what he would need. There we came across Ron.

"You've had an owl," Ron said brusquely the moment we walked in. He was pointing at Harry's pillow. The school barn owl was waiting for us there. I hurried over and started untying the letter from it's leg.

"Oh - right," Harry said.

"And we've got to do our detentions tomorrow night, Snape's dungeon," Ron said.

He then walked straight out of the room, not looking at either of us. For a moment, I could see Harry considering going after him - I wasn't sure whether he looked to want to talk to him or hit him, but both no doubt looked appealing - but the lure of Sirius' answer was too strong. Harry strode over and sat opposite me as I got the letter free and unrolled it.

_Harry, Chey -_

_I can't say everything I would like to in a letter, it's too risky in case the owl is intercepted - we need to talk face-to-face. Can you ensure that you both are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o'clock in the morning on the 22nd of November?_

_I know better than anyone that you can look after yourselves, and each other, and while you're both around Dumbledore and Moody I don't think anyone will be able to hurt either of you. However, someone seems to be having a good try. Entering you both in that tournament would have been very risky, especially right under Dumbledore's nose._

_Be on the watch, Harry, Cheyenne. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd of November as quickly as you can._

_**Sirius**_


	19. The Hungarian Horntail

**A/N: All right everyone, we're coming in on a very important part in the Triwizard Tournament and I hope everyone will give their support to the champions competing. I'm sorry I don't give many authors notes, but these next few chapters are quite exciting. To make sure everyone understands: Since Harry and Cheyennes names came out together, the duo is going to be working as a team in the tournament. I just thought it'd make the story more interesting and make it move along easily farther on. Thank you everyone again for continuing to follow this series. I welcome back those who have been gone a long time because of rl problems and I hope they still enjoy reading this story. I sincerely thank them for their support and appreciate all they have done to help me build up these stories and I hope they will continue to do so. Thank you all greatly and please enjoy these next few chapters.  
~KibaLover2211 ( ;) )**

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**Chapter Nineteen**

**The Hungarian Horntail**

The prospect of talking face-to-face with Sirius was all that sustained Harry and I over the next fortnight, the only bright spot on a horizon that had never looked darker. The shock of finding ourselves school champions had worn off slightly now, and the fear of what was facing us had started to sink in. The first task was drawing steadily nearer; we felt as though it were crouching ahead of us like some horrific monster, barring our paths. We had never suffered nerves like these; they were way beyond anything we had experienced before a Quidditch match, not even our last one against Slytherin, which had decided who would win the Quidditch Cup. Harry and I were findind it hard to think about the future at all; we felt as though our whole lives had been lead up to, and would finish with, the first task...

Admittedly, we didn't see how Sirius was going to make us feel any better about having to perform an unknown piece of difficult and dangerous magic in front of hundreds of people, but the mere sight of a friendly face would be something at the moment. We wrote back to Sirius saying that we would be beside the common room fire at the time Sirius had suggested, and we and Hermione spent a long time going over plans for forcing any stragglers out of the common room on the night in question. If worst came to worst, we were going to drop a bag of Dungbombs, but we hoped we wouldn't have to resort to that - Filch would skin us alive.

In the meantime, life became even worst for Harry and I within the confines of the castle, for Rita Skeeter had published her piece about the Triwizard Tournament, and it had turned out to be not so much a report on the tournament as a brightly colored life story of Harry and myself. Much of the front page had been give over to a picture of Harry and I together; the article (continuing on pages two, six, and seven) had been all about us, the names of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions (misspelled) had been squashed into the last line of the article, and Cedric hadn't been mentioned at all.

The article had appeared ten days ago, and Harry and I still got a sick, burning feeling of shame in our stomachs every time we thought about it. Rita Skeeter had reported us saying an awful lot of things that we couldn't remember ever saying in our lives, let alone in that broom cupboard.

We suppose we get our strength from our parents. We know they'd be very proud of us if they could see us now...Yes, sometimes at night we still cry about them, we're not ashamed to admit it...We know nothing will hurt us during the tournament, because they're watching over us...

But Rita Skeeter had gone even further than transforming his "er's" into long, sickly sentences: She had interviewed other people about us too.

It seems Harry and Cheyenne have at last found love at Hogwarts. Their close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl, and that Cheyenne is rarely without handsome full-blood wizard, Fred Weasely, both of whom are one of the top students in the school, along with the duo. However, Mr. Creevey expressed his disappointment that the duo did not act in this way with one another as, like many, he believed them to end up together.

From the moment the article had appeared, Harry and I had had to endure people - Slytherins, mainly - quoting it at us as we passed and making sneering comments.

"Want a hanky, Powter, in case you both start crying in Transfiguration?"

"Since when have you been one of the top students in the school, Potter? Or is this a school you and Longbottom have set up together?"

"Hey - Harry!"

"Yeah, that's right!" I found Harry shouting as he wheeled around in the corridor, looking like he had had about enough. "I've just been crying my eyes out over my dead mum, and I'm just off to do a bit more..."

"No - it was just - you dropped your quill."

It was Cho. I watched the color rise in his face.

"Oh - right - sorry," he muttered, taking the quill back.

"Er...good luck on Tuesday," she said. "I really hope you two do well."

Harry looked like he felt brainless.

Hermione and Fred had come in for their fair share of unpleasantness too, but neither of them had yet started yelling at innocent bystanders; in fact, Harry and I were full of admiration for the way they were handling the situation.

_"Stunningly pretty? Her?"_ Pansy Parkinson had shrieked the first time she had come face-to-face with Hermione after Rita's article had appeared. "What was she judging against - a chipmunk?"

"Says the girl that resembles a pug..." I growled under my breath as Hermione told us to ignore it in a dignified voice, holding her head in the air and stalking past the sniggering Slytherin girls as though she couldn't hear them. "Just ignore it, Harry, Chey."

Fred, meanwhile, took it all in stride and made it into another joke, which was how I found he handled things best.

But neither Harry nor I could ignore it. Ron hadn't spoke to us at all since he had told us about Snape's detentions. We both had half hoped things would be patched up during the two hours the boys were forced to pickle rats' brains in Snape's dungeons, but that had been the day Rita's article had appeared, which seemed to have confirmed Ron's belief that Harry and I were really enjoying all the attention.

Hermione was furious with the pair of them; she went from one to the other, trying to force them to talk to each other, but Harry was adamant: He would talk to Ron again only if Ron admitted that neither Harry nor I had put our names in the Goblet of Fire and apologized for calling us liars. I just wanted everyone to make up and be friends again and had even tried talking to Ron myself, but he acted as thought I was not even there. That served to only tick Harry off farther and made him even more stubborn about not wanting to talk to Ron before he apologized.

"We didn't start this," Harry said stubbornly. "It's his problem."

"You miss him!" Hermione said impatiently. "And I _know_ he misses you - both of you -"

_"Miss him?"_ Harry said. "I don't _miss him..."_

But that was a downright lie and all three of us knew it. I knew Harry liked Hermione very much, but it just wasn't the same as Ron, being around the girls all the time. There was much less laughter and a lot more hanging around in the library when Hermione was your best friend. Harry still hadn't mastered Summoning Charms, and he seemed to have deveploped something of a block about them. Hermione insisted that learning the theory would help. We consequently spent a lot of time poring over books during our lunchtimes.

Viktor Krum was in the library an awful lot too, and Harry and I wondered what he was up to. Was he studying, or was he looking for things to help him through the first task? Hermione often complained about Krum being there - not that he ever bothered us - but because groups of giggling girls often turned up to spy on him from behind bookshelves, and Hermione found the noise distracting.

"He's not even good-looking!" she muttered angrily, glaring at Krum's sharp profile. "They only like him because he'd famous! They wouldn't look twice at him if he couldn't do that Wonky-Faint thing -"

"Wronski Feint," Harry said, through gritted teeth. Quite apart from liking to get Quidditch terms correct, I could see it caused him another pang to imagine Ron's expression if he could have heard Hermione talking about Wonky-Faints.

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It is a strange thing, but when you're dreading something, and would give anything to slow down time, it has a disobliging habit of speeding up. The days until the first task seemed to slip by as though someone had fixed the clocks to work at double speed. My and Harry's feeling of barely-controlled panic was with us wherever we went, as ever-present as the snide comments about the _Daily Prophet_ article.

On the Saturday before the first task, all students in the third year and above were permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade. Hermione told Harry and I that it would do us good to get away from the castle for a bit, and neither of us needed much persuasion.

"What about Ron, though?" I said. "Don't you want to go with him?"

"Oh...well..." Hermione went slightly pink. "I thought we might meet up with him in the Three Broomsticks..."

"No," Harry said flatly.

"Oh Harry, this is so stupid -"

"I'll come, but I'm not meeting Ron, and I'm wearing my Invisibility Cloak."

"Oh all right then..." Hermione snapped, "but I hate talking to you in that cloak, I never know if I'm looking at you or not. Chey -?"

"I'm not wearing mine, I don't care right now. I just want to get out of the castle." I said, sighing. If I wore the cloak, it would only show Ron how much it bothered me that we weren't speaking. It would only serve to encourage him farther.

So Harry put on his Invisibility Cloak in the dormitory, came back downstairs, and together we and Hermione sat off for Hogsmeade.

It felt so nice to be out of the castle. Although there were other students about, they seemed to be enjoying their time in Hogsmeade too much to really bother us. Most of the students were sporting _Support Cedric Diggory!_ badges, but no horrible remarks came our way for a change, and nobody was quoting that stupid article.

"People keep looking at _us_ now," Hermione said grumpily as we came out of Honeydukes Sweetshop later, eating large creamfilled chocolates. "They think we're talking to thin air."

"Don't move your lips so much then."

"Come _on_, please just take off your cloak for a bit, no one's going to bother you here."

"Oh yeah?" Harry said. "Look behind you."

Rita Skeeter and her photographer friend had just emerged from the Three Broomsticks pub. I ducked my head, my hair falling over my shoulder to shield my face from view. Talking in low voices, they passed right by Hermione and I without looking at either of us. When they were gone, Harry said, "She's staying in the village. I bet she's coming to watch the first task."

As he said it, my stomach flooded with a wave of molten panic. I didn't mention this; Harry, Hermione, and I hadn't discussed what was coming in the first task much; we had the feeling she didn't want to think about it.

"She's gone," Hermione said, looking right through Harry toward the end of the street. "Why don't we go and have a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, it's a bit cold, isn't it? You don't have to talk to Ron!" she added irritably, correctly interpreting his silence.

The Three Broomsticks was packed, mainly with Hogwarts students enjoying their free afternoon, but also with a variety of magical people both Harry and I rarely saw anywhere else. Harry and I supposed that as Hogsmeade was the only all-wizard village in Britain, it was a bit of a haven for creatures like hags, who were not as adept as wizards at disguising themselves.

I knew it had to be very hard to move through crowds in the Invisibility Cloak, in case you accidentally trod on someone, which tended to lead to awkward questions. I felt Harry edge slowly after me toward a spare table in the corner while Hermione went to buy drinks. On our way through the pub, we spotted Ron, who was sitting with Fred, George, and Lee Jordan. I edged behind Fred and kissed the top of his head before continuing onward. He grinned after me as I reached the table and sat down.

Hermione joined us a moment later and slipped us each a butterbeer.

"We still look silly talking to thin air..." Hermione muttered. "Lucky I brought something for us to do."

And she pulled out a notebook in which she had been keeping a record of S.P.E.W. members. I saw Harry and Ron's names at the top of the very short list. It seemed a long time ago that we had sat making up those predictions together, and Hermione had turned up and appointed the boys secretary and treasurer.

"You know, maybe I should try and get some of the villagers involved in S.P.E.W.," Hermione said thoughtfully, looking around the pub.

"Yeah, right," I heard Harry say from beside me. I sighed in agreement and took a sip of butterbeer. "Hermione, when are you going to give up on this spew stuff?"

"When house-elves have decent wages and working conditions!" she hissed back. "You know, I'm starting to think it's time for more direct action. I wonder how you get into the school kitchens?"

"No idea, ask Fred and George," Harry said.

Hermione lapsed into thoughtful silence, while I drank my butterbeer, watching the people in the pub. All of them looked cheerful and relaxed. Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott were swapping Chocolate Frog cards at a nearby table, both of them sporting _Support Cedric Diggory!_ badges on their cloaks. Right over by the door I saw Cho and a large group of her Ravenclaw friends. She wasn't wearing a Cedric badge though...I knew this had to have cheered Harry up very slightly...

What we wouldn't have given to be one of these people, sitting around laughing and talking, with nothing to worry about but homework? I imagined how it would have felt to be here if my and Harry's names _hadn't_ come out of the Goblet of Fire. Harry wouldn't be wearing the Invisibility Cloak, for one thing. Ron would be sitting with us. The four of us would probably be happily imagining what deadly dangerous task the school champions would be facing on Tuesday. We'd have been really looking forward to it, watching them do whatever it was...cheering on Cedric with everyone else, safe in a couple of seats at the back of the stands...

I wondered how the other champions were feeling. Every time we had seen Cedric lately, he had been surrounded by admirers and looking nervous but excited. Harry and I glimpsed Fleur Delacour from time to time in the corridors; she looked exactly as she always did, haughty and unruffled. And Krum just sat in the library, poring over books.

I thought of Sirius, and the tight, tense knot in my chest seemed to ease slightly. Harry and I would be speaking to him in just over twelve hours, for tonight was the night we were meeting at the common room fire - assuming nothing went wrong, as everything else had done lately...

"Look, it's Hagrid!" Hermione said suddenly.

The back of Hagrid's enormous shaggy head - he had mercifully abandoned his bunches - emerged over the crowd. I wondered why we hadn't spotted him at once, as Hagrid was so large, but standing up carefully, I saw that Hagrid had been leaning low, talking to Professor Moody. Hagrid had his usual enormous tankard in front of him, but Moody was drinking from his hip flask. Madam Rosmerta, the pretty landlady, didn't seem to think much of this; she was looking askance at Moody as she collected glasses from tables around them. Perhaps she thought it was an insult to her mulled mead, but Harry and I knew better. Moody had told us all during our last Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that he preferred to prepare his own food and drink at all times, as it was so easy for Dark wizards to poison an unattended cup.

As I watched, I saw Hagrid and Moody get up to leave. I waved to get their attention. Hagrid didn't seem to see me, but Moody, however, paused, his magical eye on the corner where we were sitting. He tapped Hagrid in the small of the back (being unable to reach his shoulder), muttered something to him, and then the pair of them made their way back across the pub toward my, Harry, and Hermione's table.

"All right, Hermione, Cheyenne?" Hagrid said loudly.

"Hello," Hermione and I said, smiling back.

Moody limped around the table and bent down; I thought he was reading the S.P.E.W. notebook, until he muttered, "Nice cloak, Potter."

I stared at him in amazement. The large chunk missing from Moody's nose was particularly obvious at a few inches' distance. Moody grinned.

"Can your eye - I mean, can you -?"

"Yeah, it can see through Invisibility Cloaks," Moody said quietly. "And it's come in useful at times, I can tell you."

Hagrid was beaming down at us too. Harry and I knew Hagrid couldn't see him, but Moody had obviously told Hagrid he was there. Hagrid now bent down on the pretext of reading the S.P.E.W. notebook as well, and said in a whisper so low that only Harry and I could hear it, "Harry, Cheyenne, meet me tonight at midnight at me cabin. Wear that cloak."

Straightening up, Hagrid said loud, "Nice ter see yeh, Hermione, Cheyenne," winked, and departed. Moody followed him.

"Why does Hagrid want us to meet him at midnight?" Harry said, sounding surprised.

"Does he?" Hermione said, looking startled. "I wonder what he's up to? I don't know whether you should go, Harry, Chey..." She looked nervously around and hissed, "It might make you both late for Sirius."

It was true that going down to Hagrid's at midnight would mean cutting our meeting with Sirius very fine indeed; Hermione suggested sending Hedwig down to Hagrid's to tell him we couldn't go - always assuming she would consent to take the note, of course - Harry and I, however, thought it better just to be quick at whatever Hagrid wanted us for. We were very curious to know what this might be; Hagrid had never asked Harry or I to visit him so late at night.

At half past eleven that evening, Harry and I, both of us pretending to go up to bed early, pulled the Invisibility Cloaks over ourselves and crept back downstairs through the common room. Quite a few people were still in there. The Creevey brothers had managed to get hold of a stack of _Support Cedric Diggory!_ badges and were trying to bewitch them to make them say _Support Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power!_ instead. So far, however, all they had managed to do was get the badges stuck on _POWTER STINKS._ Harry and I crept past them to the portrait hole and waited for a minute or so. Using the Invisibility Cloaks to our advantage, I snuck under Harry's and folded mine over my arm. At that moment, Hermione opened the Fat Lady for us from outside as we had planned. We slipped past her with a whispered "Thanks!" and set off through the castle.

The grounds were very dark. Harry and I walked down the lawn toward the lights shining in Hagrid's cabin. The inside of the enormous Beauxbatons carriage was also lit up; Harry and I could hear Madame Maxime talking inside it as he knocked on Hagrid's front door.

"You there, Harry, Cheyenne?" Hagrid whispered, opening the door and looking around.

"Yeah," Harry and I said, slipping inside the cabin and pulling the cloak down off our heads. "What's up?"

"Got summat ter show yeh two," Hagrid said.

There was an air of enormoous excitement about Hagrid. He was wearing a flower that resembled an oversized artichoke in his buttonhole. It looked as though he had abandoned the use of axle grease, but he had certainly attempted to comb his hair - Harry and I could see the comb's broken teeth tangled in it.

"What're you showing us?" Harry and I asked warily, wondering if the skrewts had laid eggs, or Hagrid had managed to buy another giant three-headed dog off a stranger in a pub.

"Come with me, keep quiet, an' keep yerselves covered with those cloaks," Hagrid said. "We won' take Fang, he won' like it..."

"Listen, Hagrid, we can't stay long...We've got to be back up at the castle by one o'clock -"

But Hagrid wasn't listening; he was opening the cabin door and striding off into the night. Harry and I hurried to follow and found, to our great surprise, that Hagrid was leading us to the Beauxbatons carriage.

"Hagrid, what -?"

"Shhh!" Hagrid said, and he knocked three times on the door bearing the crossed golden wands.

Madam Maxime opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulder. She smiled when she saw Hagrid.

"Ah, 'Agrid...it is time?"

"Bong-sewer," Hagrid said, beaming at her, and holding out a hand to help her down the golden steps.

Madame Maxime closed the door behind her, Hagrid offered her his arm, and they set off around the edge of the paddock containing Madame Maxime's giant winged horses, with Harry and I, totally bewildered, running to keep up with them. Had Hagrid wanted to show us Madame Maxime? We could see her any old time we wanted...she wasn't exactly hard to miss...

But it seemed that Madame Maxime was in for the same treat as Harry and myself, because after a while she said playfully, "Wair is it you are taking me, 'Agrid?"

"Yeh'll enjoy this," Hagrid said gruffly, "worth seein', trust me. On'y - don' go tellin' anyone I showed yeh, right? Yeh're not s'pposed ter know."

"Of course not," Madame Maxime said, fluttering her long black eyelashes.

And still they walked, Harry becoming more and more impatient beside me as we jogged along in their wake, checking his watch every now and then. Hagrid had some hairbrained scheme in hand, which might make us miss Sirius. Harry and I started whispering to each other, agreeing that if we didn't get there soon, we were going to turn around, go straight back to the castle, and leave Hagrid to enjoy his moonlit stroll with Madame Maxime...

But then - when we had walked so far around the perimeter of the forest that the castle and the lake were out of sight - Harry and I heard something. Men were shouting ahead...then came a deafening, earsplitting roar...

Hagrid led Madame Maxime around a clump of trees and came to a halt. Harry and I hurried up alongside them - for a split second, we thought we were seeing bonfires, and men darting around them - and then our mouths fell open.

_Dragons._

Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting - torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks. There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air; and a gigantic black one, more lizard-like than the others, which was nearest to us.

At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Mesmerized, Harry and I looked up, high above us, and saw the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat's, bulging with either fear or rage, we couldn't tell which...It was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream...

"Keep back there, Hagrid!" yelled a wizard near the fence, straining on the chain he was holding. "They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! I've seen this Horntail do forty!"

"Is'n' it beautiful?" Hagrid said softly.

"It's no good!" yelled another wizard. "Stunning Spells, on the count of three!"

Harry and I saw each of the dragon keepers pull out his wand.

_"Stupefy!"_ they shouted in unison, and the Stunning Spells shot into the darkness like fiery rockets, bursting in showers of stars on the dragons' scaly hides -

Harry and I watched the dragon nearest to us teeter dangerously on irs back legs; its jaws stretched wide in a silent howl; its nostrils were suddenly devoid of flame, though still smoking - then, very slowly, it fell. Several tons of sinewy, scaly-black dragon hit the ground with a thud that Harry and I could have sworn made the trees behind us quake.

The dragon keepers lowered their wands and walked forward to their fallen charges, each of which was the size of a small hill. They hurried to tighten the chains and fasten them securely to iron pegs, which they forced deep into the ground with their wands.

"Wan' a closer look?" Hagrid asked Madame Maxime excitedly. The pair of them moved right up to the fence, and Harry and I followed. The wizard who had warned Hagrid not to come any closer turned, and we realized who it was: Charlie Weasley.

"All right, Hagrid?" he panted, coming over to talk. "They should be okay now - we put them out with a Sleeping Draught on the way here, though it might be better for them to wake up in the dark and the quiet - but, like you saw, they weren't happy, not happy at all -"

"What breeds you got here, Charlie?" Hagrid said, gazing at the closest dragon, the black one, with something close to reverence. Its eyes were still just open. Harry and I could see a strip of gleaming yellow beneath its wrinkled black eyelid.

"This is a Hungarian Horntail," Charlie said. "There's a Common Welsh Green over there, the smaller one - a Swedish Short-Snout, that blue-gray - and a Chinese Fireball, that's the red."

Charlie looked around; Madame Maxime was strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the stunned dragons.

"I didn't know you were bringing her, Hagrid," Charlie said, frowning. "The champions aren't supposed to know what's coming - she's bound to tell her student, isn't she?"

"Jus' thought she'd like ter see 'em," Hagrid shrugged, still gazing, enraptured, at the dragons.

"Really romantic date, Hagrid," Charlie said, shaking his head.

"Four..." Hagrid said, "so it's one fer each o' the first three champions, and the last one to the champion team, is it? What've they gotta do - fight 'em?"

"Just get past them, I think," Charlie said. "We'll be on hand if it gets nasty, Extinguishing Spells at the ready. They wanted nesting mothers, I don't know why...but I tell you this, I don't envy the one who gets the Horntail. Vicious thing. It's back end's as dangerous as its front, look."

Charlie pointed toward the Horntail's tail, and Harry and I saw long, bronze-colored spikes protruding along it every few inches.

Five of Charlie's fellow keepers staggered up to the Horntail at that moment, carrying a clutch of huge granite-gray eggs between them in a blanket. They placed them carefully at the Horntail's side. Hagrid let out a moan of longing.

"I've got them counted, Hagrid," Charlie said sternly. Then he said, "How're Harry and Chey?"

"Fine," Hagrid said. He was still gazing at the eggs.

"Just hope they're still fine after they've faced this lot," Charlie said grimly, looking out over the dragons' enclosure. "I didn't dare tell Mum what they've got to do for the first task; she's already having kittens about them..." Charlie imitated his mother's anxious voice. _" 'How could they let them enter that tournament, they're much too young! I thought they were all safe. I thought there was going to be an age limit!'_ She was in floods after that _Daily Prophet_ article about them. _'They still cry about their parents! Oh bless them, I never knew!' "_

Harry and I had had enough. Trusting the fact that Hagrid wouldn't miss us, with the attractions of four dragons and Madame Maxime to occupy him, we turned, Harry helping me as I'd lost all feelings in my legs, and we began to walk away, back to the castle.

Neither of us knew whether we were glad we'd seen what was coming or not. Perhaps this way was better. The first shock was over now. Maybe if we'd seen the dragons for the first time on Tuesday, we would have passed out cold in front of the whole school...but maybe we would anyway...We were going to be armed with our wands - which, just now, felt like nothing more than narrow strips of wood - against a fifty-foot-high, scaly, spike-ridden, fire-breathing dragon. And we had to get past it. With everyone watching. _How?_

Harry sped us up, skirting the edge of the forest; we had just under fifteen minutes to get back to the fireside and talk to Sirius, and we couldn't remember, ever, wanting to talk to someone more than we did right now - when, without warning, we ran into something very solid.

My legs gave way and I crumpled, clutching Harry's shoulder to keep upright. However, he took me backward with him as he fell onto the grass, his glasses becoming askew, one arm clutching my waist, the other clutching the cloak around us. A voice nearby said, "Ouch! Who's there?"

Harry hastily checked that the cloak was covering us and we lay very still, staring up at the dark outline of the wizard we had hit. We recognized the goatee...it was Karkaroff.

"Who's there?" Karkaroff said again, very suspiciously, looking around in the darkness. Harry and I remained still and silent. After a minute or so, Karkaroff seemed to decide that he had hit some sort of animal; he was looking around at waist height, as though expecting to see a dog. Then he crept back under the cover of the trees and started to edge forward toward the place where the dragons were.

Very slowly and very carefully, Harry got to his feet, pulling me up with him, and we set off again as fast as we could without making too much noise, hurrying through the darkness back toward Hogwarts.

We had no doubt whatsoever what Karkaroff was up to. He had sneaked off his ship to try and find out what the first task was going to be. He might even have spotted Hagrid and Madame Maxime heading off around the forest together - they were hardly difficult to spot at a distance...and now all Karkaroff had to do was follow the sounds of voices, and he, like Madame Maxime, would know what was in store for the champions.

By the looks of it, the only champion who would be facing the unknown on Tuesday was Cedric.

Harry and I reached the castle, slipped in through the front doors, and began to climb the marble stairs; we were very out of breath, but we didn't dare slow down...We had less than five minutes to get up to the fire...

"Balderdash!" we gasped at the Fat Lady, who was snoozing in her frame in front of the portrait hole.

"If you say so," she muttered sleepily, without opening her eyes, and the picture swung forward to admit us. Harry climbed in first and helped me through. The common room was deserted, and, judging by the fact that it smelled quite normal, Hermione had not needed to set off any Dungbombs to ensure that we and Sirius got privacy.

Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and threw himself into an armchair in front of the fire while I collapsed on the couch, using my folded up cloak as a pillow. The room was in semidarkness; the flames were the only source of light. Nearby, on a table, the _Support Cedric Diggory!_ badges the Creeveys had been trying to improve were glinting in the firelight. They now read _POWTER REALLY STINKS_. Harry and I looked back into the flames, and jumped. I fell off the couch with a thud.

Sirius's head was sitting in the fire. If Harry and I hadn't seen Mr. Diggory do exactly this back in the Weasleys' kitchen, it would have scared us out of our wits. Instead, our faces breaking into the first smiles we had worn for days, we scrambled forward, crouched down by the hearth, and said, "Sirius - how're you doing?"

Sirius looked different from my and Harry's memory of him. When we had said good-bye, Sirius's face had been gaunt and sunken, surrounded by a quantity of long, black, matted hair - but the hair was short and clean now, Sirius's face was fuller, and he looked younger, much more like the only photographs Harry and I had of him, one taken at the Potters' wedding, the other at the Powers'.

"Never mind me, how are you two?" Sirius asked seriously.

"We're -" We started, then looked at one another. For a second, we tried to say "fine" - but we couldn't do it. Before we could stop ourselves, we were talking more than we'd talked in days - about how no one believed we hadn't entered the tournament of our own free will, how Rita Skeeter had lied about us in the _Daily Prophet_, how we couldn't walk down a corridor without being sneered at - and about Ron, Ron not believing us, Ron's jealousy...

"...and now Hagrid's just shown us what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons, Sirius, and we're goners," Harry finished desperately.

Sirius looked at us, eyes full of concern, eyes that had not yet lost the look that Azkaban had given them - that deadened, haunted look. He had let Harry and I talk ourselves into silence without interruption, but now he said, "Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute - I haven't got long here...I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you both about."

"What?" Harry and I said, feeling our spirits slip a further few notches...Surely there could be nothing worse than dragons coming?

"Karkaroff," Sirius said. "Harry, Cheyenne...he was a Death Eater. You both know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"Yes - he - what?"

"He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet everything that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year - to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place."

"Karkaroff got released?" I said slowly - my brain seemed to be struggling to absorb yet another piece of shocking information. "Why did they release him?"

"He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic," Sirius said bitterly. "He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then he named names...he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place...He's not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well."

"Okay," I heard Harry say slowly. "But...are you saying Karkaroff put our names in the goblet? Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop us from competing."

"We know he's a good actor," Sirius said, "because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the _Daily Prophet_, Harry, Cheyenne -"

" - you and the rest of the world," Harry said bitterly.

" - and reading between the lines of that Skeeter's woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm," Sirius said hastily, seeing Harry and I about to speak, "but I don't think so, somehow. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he can't still spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."

"So...what are you saying?" Harry said slowly. "Karkaroff's trying to kill us? But - why?"

Sirius hesitated.

"I've been hearing some very strange things," he said slowly. "The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone set off the Dark Mark...and then - did either of you hear about that Ministry of Magic witch who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?" I asked.

"Exactly...she disappeared in Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumored to be last...and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, but...it's not very likely she'd have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?" Harry said.

"Listen, I knew Bertha Jorkins," Sirius said grimly. "She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above your dads and me. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It's not a good combination, Harry, Cheyenne. I'd say she'd be very easy to lure into a trap."

"So...so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?" I said. "Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?"

"I don't know," Sirius said slowly. "I just don't know...Karkaroff doesn't strike me as the type who'd go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your names in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can't help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you both and make it look like an accident."

"Looks like a really good plan from where we're standing," Harry and I said together, grinning bleakly. "They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff."

"Right - these dragons," Sirius said, speaking very quickly now. "There's a way, Harry, Cheyenne. Don't be tempted to try a Stunning Spell - dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by just two Stunners, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon -"

"Yeah, we know, we just saw," Harry said.

"But you both can do it alone," Sirius said. "There is a way, and a simple spells' all you both need. Just -"

But Harry suddenly held up a hand to silence him, and my heart skipped a beat. I could hear footsteps coming down the spiral staircase behind us.

"Go!" we hissed at Sirius. _"Go!_ There's someone coming!"

Harry and I scrambled to our feet, hiding the fire - if someone saw Sirius's face within the walls of Hogwarts, they would raise an almighty uproar - the Ministry would get dragged in - we, Harry and Cheyenne, would be questioned about Sirius's whereabouts -

Harry and I heard a tiny _pop!_ in the fire behind us and knew Sirius had gone. We watched the bottom of the spiral staircase. Who had decided to go for a stroll at one o'clock in the morning, and stopped Sirius from telling us how to get past a dragon?

It was Ron. Dressed in his maroon paisley pajamas, Ron stopped dead facing us across the room, and looked around.

"Who were you two talking to?" he asked.

"What's that got to do with you?" Harry snarled and I touched his arm. "What are you doing down here at this time of night?"

"I just wondered where you -" Ron broke off, shrugging, but I knew. He'd been _worried_. He'd come down here to see where Harry was and why he was out of bed. Hiding my smirk, I tried to keep Harry calm. "Nothing. I'm going back to bed."

"Just thought you'd come nosing around, did you?" Harry shouted. "Harry!" I said, surprised by his outburst. He and I both knew that Ron had no idea what he'd walked in on, knew he hadn't done it on purpose, but it seemed he didn't care - at this moment, I could see he hated everything about Ron, right down to the several inches of bare ankle showing beneath his pajama trousers.

"Sorry about that," Ron said, his face reddening with anger. "Should've realized neither of you wanted to be disturbed. I'll let you both get on with practicing for your next interview in peace."

Before I could stop him, Harry seized one of the _POWTER REALLY STINKS_ badges off the table and chucked it, as hard as he could, across the room. It hit Ron on the forehead and bounced off.

"There you go," Harry said. "Something for you to wear on Tuesday. You might even have a scar now, if you're lucky...That's what you want, isn't it?"

He strode across the room toward the stairs, and I half expected Ron to stop him. Harry looked to expect the same thing and like he would have even liked Ron to throw a punch at him, but Ron just stood there in his two-small pajamas as Harry stormed upstairs. Ron looked at me, confused and I gave a weak smile before making my way over, "Um, nerves..." I managed to squeak before stooping and picking up the badge, returning it to the table. I leaned toward him to see if he had a cut or bruise before stepping back again.

"Sorry, Ron. It's been a long day, so we're both fried. I'm going to bed, myself. Have a good night." I sad softly, nodding to him and making my way up to my dormitory. All the other girls in my dorm were already asleep by the time I'd slipped into the dark room, even Hermione, who had evidently tried to stay awake to hear what Sirius had had to say. Smiling gently, I took the book leaning against her stomach, marked her page, and left it on her bedside table before pulling on my night gown, slipping into bed and falling into a light sleep, all the new information whirling in my head.


	20. The First Task

**Chapter Twenty**

**The First Task**

I got up on Sunday morning and dressed distractly, hardly noticing what I was doing as I pulled on what I would wear for today. Only once or twice did I catch myself putting the wrong thing on the wrong part of my body and have to fix it before I'd finally dressed the correct way. Once I was sure I was properly clothed, I hurried downstairs into the common room, where I met with Harry and we ran off to search for Hermione, who we located at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, where she was eating breakfast with Ginny. Feeling too queasy to eat, Harry and I waited until Hermione had swallowed her last spoonful of porridge, then dragged her out onto the grounds. There, we told her all about the dragons, and about everything Sirius had said, while we took another long walk around the lake.

Alarmed as she was by Sirius's warnings about Karkaroff, Hermione still thought that the dragons were the more pressing problem.

"Let's just try and keep you both alive until Tuesday evening," she said desperately, "and then we can worry about Karkaroff."

We walked three times around the lake, trying all the way to think of a simple spell that would subdue a dragon. Nothing whatsoever occurred to us, so we retired to the library instead. Here, Harry and I pulled down every book we could find on dragons, and all three of us set to work searching through the large pile.

" _'Talon-clipping by charms...treating scale-rot...'_ This is no good, this for nutters like Hagrid who want to keep them healthy..."

" _'Dragons are extremely difficult to slay, owing to the ancient magic that imbues their thick hides, which none but the most powerful spells can penetrate...'_ But Sirius said a simple one would do it..."

"Let's try some simple spellbooks, then," I said, throwing aside _Men Who Love Dragons Too Much._

Harry and I each returned to the table with a pile of spellbooks, set them down, and began to flick through each in turn, Hermione whispering nonstop at each of our elbows.

"Well, there are Switching Spells...but what's the point of Switching it? Unless one of you swapped its fangs for wine-gums or something that would make it less dangerous...The trouble is, like that book said, not much is going to get through a dragon's hide...I'd say Transfigure it, but something that big, neither of you really have a hope, I doubt even Professor McGonagall...unless you're both supposed to put the spell on _yourselves_? Maybe to give yourselves extra powers? But _they're_ not simple spells, I mean, we haven't done any of those in class, I only know about them because Chey and I've been doing O.W.L. practice papers..."

"Hermione," Harry finally said, through gritted teeth, "will you shut up for a bit, please? I'm trying to concentrate."

But all that happened, when Hermione fell silent, was that my brain filled with a sort of blank buzzing, which didn't seem to allow room for concentration. I sighed, putting the book down and staring blankly at the pages before me...With each new sentence I read, all I could think was that I only going to strengthen the dragon and make it all the eaiser for it to defeat us in the first task...

"Oh no, he's back _again_, why can't he read on his stupid ship?" Hermione said irritably as Viktor Krum slouched in, cast a surly look over at the three of us, and settled himself in a distant corner with a pile of books. "Come on, Harry, Chey, we'll go back to the common room...his fan club'll be here in a moment, twittering away..."

And sure enough, as we left the library, a gang of girls tiptoed past us, one of them wearing a Bulgaria scarf tied around her waist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I got very little sleep that night. When I awoke on Monday morning, the thought of running away from Hogwarts crossed my mind for the first time, causing a pang to pierce my heart. Harry, apparently, had the same strange and unthinkable idea that morning, from what he told me when we made our way downstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast. However, as we looked around the hall, and thought about what leaving the castle would mean, we knew we couldn't do it. It was the only place we had ever been happy...well, we supposed we must have been happy with our parents too, but we couldn't remember that too well.

Somehow, the knowledge that we would rather be here and facing a dragon than back on Privet Drive with Dudley was good to know; it made us feel slightly calmer. We finished our bacon with difficulty, our throats working ineffectively, and as we and Hermione got up, he pointed out Cedric Diggory leaving the Hufflepuff table.

Cedric still din't know about the dragons...the only champion who didn't, if Harry and I were right in thinking that Maxime and Karkaroff would have told Fleur and Krum...

"Hermione, we'll see you in the greenhouses," Harry and I said, coming to our desision as we watched Cedric leaving the Hall. "Go on, we'll catch you up."

"Harry, Chey, you'll both be late, the bell's about to ring -"

"We'll catch you up, okay?"

By the time Harry and I had reached the bottom of the marble staircase, Cedric was at the top. He was with a load of sixth-year friends. Neither Harry nor I wanted to talk to Cedric in front of them; they were among those who had been quoting Rita Skeeter's article at us every time we went near them. We followed Cedric at a distance and saw that he was heading toward the Charms corridor. This gave Harry and I an idea. Pausing at a distance from them, we pulled out our wands, and took careful aim.

_"Diffindo!"_

Cedric's bag split. Parchment, quills, and books spilled out of it onto the floor. Several bottles of ink smashed.

"Don't bother," Cedric said in an exasperated voice as his friends bent down to help him. "Tell Flitwick I'm coming, go on..."

This was exactly what Harry and I had been hoping for. We slipped our wands back into our robes, waited until Cedric's friends had disappeared into their classroom, and hurried up the corridor, which was now empty of everyone but ourselves and Cedric.

"Hi," Cedric said, picking up a copy of _A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_ that was now splattered with ink. "My bag just split...brand-new and all..."

"Cedric," Harry said, "the first task is dragons."

"What?" Cedric said, looking up.

"Dragons," I said, speaking quickly, in case Professor Flitwick came out to see where Cedric had got to. "They've got four, one for each of you, one for Harry and myself, and we've got to get past them."

Cedric stared at us. Harry and I saw some of the panic we'd been feeling since Saturday night flickering in Cedric's gray eyes.

"Are you both sure?" Cedric asked in a hushed voice.

"Dead sure," Harry said. "We've seen them."

"But how did you find out? We're not supposed to know..."

"Never mind," Harry said quickly - we both knew Hagrid would be in trouble if we told the truth. "But we're not the only ones who know. Fleur and Krum will know by now - Madame Maxime and Karkaroff both saw the dragons too."

Cedric straightened up, his arms full of inky quills, parchment, and books, his ripped bag dangling off one shoulder. He stared at Harry and I, and there was a puzzled, almost suspicious look in his eyes.

"Why are you both telling me?" he asked.

Harry and I looked at him, then at each other in disbelief. We were sure Cedric wouldn't have asked that if he had seen the dragons himself. Neither Harry nor I would have let our worst enemy face those monsters unprepared - well, perhaps Malfoy or Snape...

"Well...everyone deserves a chance...and this way we're all on the same page...on equal footing..." I said to Cedric, giving a small smile.

Cedric was still looking at us in a slightly suspicious way when Harry and I heard a familiar clunking noise behind us. We turned around and saw Mad-Eye Moody emerging from a nearby classroom.

"Come with me, Potter, Power," he growled. "Diggory, off you go."

Harry and I stared apprehensively at Moody. Had he overheard us?

"Er - Professor, Chey and I're supposed to be in Herbology -"

"Never mind that, Potter. In my office, please..."

Harry and I followed him, wondering what was going to happen to us now. What if Moody wanted to know how we'd found out about the dragons? Would Moody go to Dumbledore and tell on Hagrid or just turn Harry and I into ferrets? Well, it might be easier to get past a dragon if we were ferrets, Harry and I thought dully, looking at each other, we'd be smaller, much less easy to see from a height of fifty feet...

We followed Moody into his office. Moody closed the door behind us and turned to look at Harry and I, his magical eye fixed upon us as well as the normal one.

"That was a very decent thing you both just did, Potter, Power," Moody said quietly.

Neither Harry nor I knew what to say; this wasn't the reaction we had expected at all.

"Sit down," Moody said, and Harry and I sat, looking around.

We had visited this office under two of its previous occupants. In Professor Lockhart's day, the walls had been plastered with beaming, winking pictures of Professor Lockhart himself. When Lupin had lived here, you were more likely to come across a specimen of some fascinating new Dark creature he had procured for us to study in class. Now, however, the office was full of a number of exceptionally odd objects that Harry and I supposed Moody had used in the days when he had been an Auror.

On his desk stood what looked like a large, cracked, glass spinning top; Harry and I recognized it at once as a Sneakoscope, because he owned one himself, though it was much smaller than Moody's. In the corner on a small table stood an object that looked something like an extra-squiggly, golden television aerial. It was humming slightly. What appeared to be a mirror hung opposite us on the wall, but it was not reflecting the room. Shadowy figures were moving around inside it, none of them clearly in focus.

"Like my Dark Detectors, do you?" Moody said, who was watching Harry and I closely.

"What's that?" Harry asked, pointing at the squiggly golden aerial.

"Secrecy Sensor. Vibrates when it detects concealment and lies...no use here, of course, too much interference - students in every direction lying about why they haven't done their homework. Been humming ever since I got here. I had to disable my Sneakoscope because it wouldn't stop whistling. It's extra-sensitive, picks up stuff about a mile around. Of course, it could be picking up more than kid stuff," he added in a growl.

"And what's the mirror for?"

"Oh that's my Foe-Glass. See them out there, skulking around? I'm not really in trouble until I see the whites of their eyes. That's when I open my trunk."

He let out a short, harsh laugh, and pointed to the large trunk under the window. It had seven keyholes in a row. Harry and I wondered what was in there, until Moody's next question brought us sharply back to earth.

"So...found out about the dragons, have you?"

Harry and I hesitated, glancing at each other once more. We'd been afraid of this - but we hadn't told Cedric, and we certainly weren't going to tell Moody, that Hagrid had broken the rules.

"It's all right," Moody said, sitting down and stretching out his wooden leg with a groan. "Cheating's a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and always has been."

"We didn't cheat," Harry said sharply. "It was - a sort of accident that we found out."

Moody grinned. "I wasn't accusing either of you, laddie. I've been telling Dumbledore from the start, he can be as high-minded as he likes, but you can bet old Karkaroff and Maxime won't be. They'll have told their champions everything they can. They want to win. They want to beat Dumbledore. They'd like to prove he's only human."

Moody gave another harsh laugh, and his magical eye swiveled around so fast it made my stomach flip just watching it.

"So...got any ideas how you're both going to get past your dragon yet?" Moody asked.

"No," Harry said.

"Well, I'm not going to tell you," Moody said gruffly. "I don't show favoritism, me. I'm just going to give you both some good, general advice. And the first bit is - _play to your strengths."_

"I really haven't got any," Harry said, before he could stop himself.

"Excuse me," Moody growled, "you've both got strengths if I say you've got them. Think now. What are you both best at?"

Harry and I looked at each other, trying to concentrate. What _were_ we both best at? Well, that was easy, really -

"Quidditch," we said dully, "and a fat lot of help -"

"That's right," Moody said, staring at us very hard, his magical eye barely moving at all. "You're a damn good couple of fliers from what I've heard."

"Yeah, but..." Harry and I stared at him. "We're not allowed one broom, let alone two, we've only got our wands -"

"My second piece of general advice," Moody said loudly, interrupting us, "is to use a nice, simple spell that will enable you both to _get what you need."_

Harry and I looked at him blankly. What did we need?

"Come on, you two..." Moody whispered. "Put them together...it's not that difficult..."

And it clicked. We were best at flying. We needed to pass the dragon in the air. For that, we needed our Firebolts. And for our Firebolts, we needed -

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hermione," Harry whispered, when we had sped into the greenhouse three minutes later, uttering a hurried apology to Professor Sprout as we passed her. "Hermione - I need you to help me. You and Chey both!"

"What d'you think I've been trying to do, Harry?" she whispered back, her eyes round with anxiety over the top of the quivering Flutterby Bush she was pruning.

"Hermione, I need to learn how to do a Summoning Charm properly by tomorrow afternoon."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so we practiced. We didn't have lunch, but headed for a free classroom, where Harry tried with all his might to make various objects fly across the room toward him. He was still having problems. The books and quills kept losing heart halfway across the room and dropping like stones to the floor.

"Concentrate, Harry, _concentrate_..."

"What d'you think I'm trying to do?" Harry said angrily. "A great big dragon keeps popping up in my head for some reason...Okay, try again..."

We wanted to skip Divination to keep practicing, but Hermione refused point-blank to skive off Arithmancy, and there was no point in staying without her. We therefore had to endure over an hour of Professor Trelawney, who spent half the lesson telling everyone that the position of Mars with relation to Saturn at that moment meant that people born in July were in great danger of sudden, violent deaths.

"Well, that's good," Harry said loudly, his temper getting the better of him, "just as long as it's not drawn-out. I don't want to suffer."

Ron looked for a moment as though he was going to laugh; he certainly caught my and Harry's eyes for the first time in days, but Harry looked to be feeling too resentful toward Ron to care. I could hear him whispering the Summoning Charm to himself under his breath and caught just a glimpse of each small object that he tried to attract to him under the table. I just caught a glimpse of a fly before it disappeared below the table, but wasn't too sure if it was the Summoning Charm - maybe the fly was just stupid.

We both forced down some dinner after Divination, then returned to the empty classroom with Hermione, using the Invisibility Cloak to avoid teachers. We kept practicing until past midnight. We would have stayed longer, but Peeves turned up and, pretending to think that Harry wanted things thrown at him, started chucking chairs across the room. Harry, Hermione, and I left in a hurry before the noise attracted Filch, and went back to the Gryffindor common room, which was now mercifully empty.

At two o'clock in the morning, Harry stood near the fireplace, surrounded by heaps of objects; books, quills, several upturned chairs, an old set of Gobstones, and Neville's toad, Trevor. Only in the last hour had Harry really got the hang of the Summoning Charm.

"That's better, Harry, that's loads better," I said with a tired smile. Hermione looked exhausted, but pleased.

"Well, now we know what to do next time I can't manage a spell," Harry said, throwing a rune dictionary back to Hermione, so he could try again, "threaten me with a dragon. Right..." he raised his wand once more. _"Accio Dictionary!"_

The heavy book soared out of Hermione's hand, flew across the room, and Harry caught it.

"Harry, I really think you've got it!" Hermione said delightedly.

"Just as long as it works tomorrow," Harry said. "The Firebolts're going to be much farther away than the stuff in here, they're going to be in the castle, and we're going to be out there on the grounds..."

"That doesn't matter," Hermione said firmly. "Just as long as you're both concentrating really, really hard on them, they'll come. Harry, we'd better get some sleep...you and Chey're going to need it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'd been focusing so hard on helping Harry learn the Summoning Charm that evening that some of my blind panic had left me. It returned in full measure, however, the following morning. The atmosphere in the school was one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop at midday, giving all the students time to get down to the dragons' enclosure - though of course, they didn't yet know what they would find there.

Harry and I felt oddly separate from everyone around us, whether they were wishing us good luck or hissing _"We'll have a box of tissues ready, Powter"_ as we passed. It was a state of nervousness so advanced that we wondered whether we mightn't just lose our heads when they tried to lead us out to our dragon, and start trying to curse everyone in sight. Time was behaving in a more peculiar fashion than ever, rushing past in great dollops, so that one moment we seemed to be sitting down in our first lesson, History of Magic, and the next, walking into lunch...and then (where had the morning gone? the last of the dragon-free hours?), Professor McGonagall was hurrying over to us in the Great Hall. Lost of people were watching.

"Potter, Power, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now...You have to get ready for your first task."

"Okay," Harry and I said, standing up, our forks falling onto our plates with a couple of clatters.

"Good luck, Harry, Cheyenne," Hermione whispered. "You'll both be fine!"

"Yeah," Harry and I said in voices that were most unlike our owns.

We left the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall. She didn't seem herself either; in fact, she looked nearly as anxious as Hermione. As she walked us down the stone steps and out into the cold November afternoon, she put a hand on each of our shoulders.

"Now, don't panic," she said, "just keep cool heads...We've got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand...The main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of either of you...Are you both all right?"

"Yes," Harry and I heard ourselves saying. "Yes, we're fine."

She was leading us toward the place where the dragons were, around the edge of the forest, but when we approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Harry and I saw that a tent had been erected, it's entrance facing us, screening the dragons from view.

"You're both to go in here with the other champions," Professor McGonagall said, in a rather shaky sort of voice, "and wait for your turn, Potter, Power. Mr. Bagman is in there...he'll be telling you two the - the procedure...Good luck."

"Thanks," Harry said, in a flat, distant voice. She left us at the entrance of the tent. Harry and I went inside.

Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a low wooden stood. She didn't look nearly as composed as usual, but rather pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which Harry and I supposed was his way of showing nerves. Cedric was pacing up and down. When we entered, Cedric gave us each a small smile, which Harry and I returned, feeling the muscles in our faces working rather hard, as though they had forgotten how to do it.

"Harry! Cheyenne! Good-o!" Bagman said happily, looking around at us. "Come in, come in, make yourselves at home!"

Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again.

"Well, now we're all here - time to fill you all in!" Bagman said brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag" - he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at us - "from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different - er - varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too...ah, yes...your task is to _collect the golden egg_!"

I glanced around. Cedric had nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman's words, and then started pacing around the tent again; he looked slightly green. Fleur Delacour and Krum hadn't reacted at all. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they opened their mouths; that was certainly how I felt. But they, at least, had volunteered for this...

And in no time at all, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking...Harry and I felt as separate from the crowd as though they were a different species. And then - it seemed like about a second later to Harry and myself - Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack.

"Ladies first," he said, offering it to Fleur Delacour.

She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon - a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck. And Harry and I knew, by the fact that Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but rather a determined resignation, that we had been right: Madame Maxime had told her what was coming.

The same held true for Krum. He pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball. It had a number three around its neck. He didn't even blink, just sat back down and stared at the ground.

Cedric put his hand into the bag, and out came the blueish-gray Swedish Short-Snout, the number one tied around its neck. Knowing what was left, Harry took my hand and put his free hand into the silk bag. He pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, and the number four. It stretched its wings as we looked down at it, and bared its minuscule fangs.

"Well, there you are!" Bagman said. "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragon, do you see? Now, I'm going to have to leave you in a moment, because I'm commentating. Mr. Diggory, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now...Harry...Cheyenne...could I have a quick word? Outside?"

"Er...yes," Harry said blankly, and we got up and went out of the tent with Bagman, who walked us a short distance away, into the trees, and then turned to us with a fatherly expression on his face.

"Feeling all right, Harry, Cheyenne? Anything I can get either of you?"

"What?" Harry and I asked. "We - no, nothing."

"Got a plan?" Bagman asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Because I don't mind sharing a few pointers, if you'd both like them, you know. I mean," Bagman continued, lowering his voice still further, "you're the underdogs here, Harry, Cheyenne...Anything I can do to help..."

"No," Harry said so quickly it sounded rather rude. "No - I - we know what we're going to do, thanks."

"Nobody would _know_, Harry," Bagman said, winking at the two of us.

"No, we're fine," I said, wondering why we kept telling people this, and wondering whether we had ever been less fine. "We've got a plan worked out, we -"

A whistle had blown somewhere.

"Good lord, I've got to run!" Bagman said in alarm, and he hurried off.

Harry and I walked back to the tent and saw Cedric emerging form it, greener than ever. We tried to wish him luck as he walked past, but all that came out of our mouths were a couple of hoarse grunts.

Harry and I went back inside to Fleur and Krum. Seconds later, we heard the roar of the crowd, which meant Cedric had entered the enclosure and was now face-to-face with the living counterpart of his model...

It was worse than either Harry or I could ever have imagined, sitting there and listening. The crowd screamed...yelled...gasped like a single many-headed entity, as Cedric did whatever he was doing to get past the Swedish Short-Snout. Krum was still staring at the ground. Fleur had now taken to retracing Cedric's steps, around and around the tent. And Bagman's commentary made everything much, much worse...Horrible pictures formed in my mind as we heard: "Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow" ..."He's taking risks, this one!"..._"Clever_ move - pity it didn't work!"

And then, after about fifteen minutes, Harry and I heard the deafening roar that could mean only one thing: Cedric had gotten past his dragon and captured the golden egg.

"Very good indeed!" Bagman was shouting. "And now the marks from the judges!"

But he didn't shout out the marks; I supposed the judges were holding them up and showing them to the crowd.

"One dragon down, three to go!" Bagman yelled as the whistle blew again. "Miss Delacour, if you please!"

Fleur was trembling from head to foot; Harry and I felt more warmly toward her than we had done so far as she left the tent with her head held high and her hand clutching her wand. We and Krum were left alone, at opposite sides of the tent, avoiding each other's gazes.

The same process started again..."Oh I'm not sure that was wise!" we could hear Bagman shouting gleefully. "Oh...nearly! Careful now...good lord, I thought she'd had it then!"

Ten minutes later, Harry and I heard the crowd erupt into applause once more...Fleur must have been successful too. A pause, while Fleur's marks were being shown...more clapping...then, for the third time, the whistle.

"And here comes Mr. Krum!" Bagman cried, and Krum slouched out, leaving Harry and I quite alone.

I felt much more aware of my body than usual; very aware of the way my heart was pumping fast, and my fingers tingling with fear...yet at the same time, I seemed to be outside myself, seeing the walls of the tent, and hearing the crowd, as though from far away...

"Very daring!" Bagman was yelling, and Harry and I heard the Chinese Fireball emit a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd drew its collective breath. "That's some nerve he's showing - and - yes, he's got the egg!"

Applause shattered the wintery air like breaking glass; Krum had finished - it would be my and Harry's turn any moment.

We stood up, supporting each other. My legs felt like marshmellow. We waited. And then we heard the whistle blow. We walked out through the entrance of the tent, the panic rising into a crescendo inside us. And now we were walking past the trees, through a gap in the enclosure fence. We gripped each other's hands.

We saw everything in front of us as though it was a very highly colored dream. There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring down at us from stands that had been magicked there since we'd last stood on this spot. And there was the Horntail, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil, yellow eyes upon us, a monstrous, scaly black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground. The crowd was making a great deal of noise, but whether friendly or not, neither Harry nor I knew or even cared. It was time to do what we had to do...to focus our minds, entirely and absolutely, upon the thing that was our only chance...

We raised our wands together.

_"Accio Firebolt!"_ we shouted.

Harry and I waited, every fiber of us hoping, praying...If it hadn't worked...if they wasn't coming...We seemed to be looking at everything around us through some sort of shimmering, transparent barrier, like a heat haze, which made the enclosure and the hundreds of faces around us swim strangely...

And then we heard them, speeding through the air behind us; we turned and saw our Firebolts hurtling toward us around the edge of the woods, soaring into the enclosure, and stopping dead in midair beside us, waiting for us to mount. The crowd was making even more noise...Bagman was shouting something...but my ears were not working properly anymore...listening wasn't important...

Moving almost like one being, Harry and I released each other's hands, swung our legs over the brooms and kicked off from the ground. And a second later, something miraculous happened...

As we soared upward, as the wind rushed through our hair, as the crowd's faces became mere flesh-colored pinpricks below, and the Horntail shrank to the side of a dog, we realized that we had left not only the ground behind, but also our fear...We were back where we belonged...

This was just another Quidditch match, that was all...just another Quidditch match, and that Horntail was just another ugly opposing team...

We looked down at the clutch of eggs and spotted the gold one, gleaming against its cement-colored fellows, residing safely between the dragon's front legs. "Okay," Harry muttered half to himself, half to me, "diversionary tactics...let's go..."

We dived. The Horntail's head followed us; we knew what it was going to do and pulled out of the dive just in time; a jet of fire had been released exactly where we would have been had we not swerved away...but neither Harry nor I cared...that was no more than dodging a Bludger...

"Great Scott, they can fly!" Bagman yelled as the crowd shrieked and gasped. "Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?"

Harry and I soared higher in a circle; the Horntail was still following our progress; its head revolving on its long neck - if we kept this up, it would be nicely dizzy - but better not push it too long, or it would be breathing fire again -

Harry and I plummeted just as the Horntail opened its mouth, but this time we were less lucky - while he avoided the flames, a stray tongue caught my arm, igniting the sleeve. Rolling away, I just caught a glimpse of the tail appearing out of nowhere, and Harry swerving to the left to avoid it. One of the long spikes grazed his shoulder, ripping his robes -

Heat rising from my arm where it had been burned, I heard the screaming and groaning of the crowd, but the burn wasn't too bad...Now I zoomed closer to Harry and followed him around the back of the Horntail, and a possibility occured to us...

The Horntail didn't seem to want to take off, she was too protective of her eggs. Though she writhed and twisted, furling and unfurling her wings and keeping those fearsome yellow eyes on Harry and I, she was afraid to move too far from them...but we had to persuade her to do it, or we'd never get near them...The trick was to do it carefully, gradually...

We began to fly, flying opposite one another, first this way, then the other, not near enough to make her breathe fire to stave us off, but still posing a sufficient threat to ensure she kept her eyes on us. Her head swayed this way and that, watching each of us out of those vertical pupils, her fangs bared...

We flew higher. The Horntail's head rose with us, her neck now stretched to its fullest extent, still swaying, like a snake before its charmer...

Harry and I rose a few more feet, and she let out a roar of exasperation. We were like a couple of flies to her, flies she was longing to swat; her tail thrashed again, but we were too high to reach now...She shot fire into the air, which we dodged...Her jaws opened wide...

"Come on," Harry hissed, swerving tantalizingly opposite me, "come on, come and get us...up you get now..."

And then she reared, spreading her great, black, leathery wings at last, as wide as those of a small airplane - and Harry dived. I shot after him, swirling distractedly around the Horntail's head. Before either the dragon or I knew what he had done, or where he had disappeared to, I just caught a glimpse of Harry speeding toward the ground as fast as he could go, toward the eggs now unprotected by her clawed front legs - he launched forward, hands off his Firebolt - then, he was raising into the air, clutching the golden egg -

The last I saw was my best friend soaring out over the stands, the golden egg tucked safely under his uninjured arm before I felt a violent jerk and I was tossed through the air, crashing onto hard packed earth and rolling backward until my back hit the edge of the enclosure. Someone had suddenly switched my ears back to normal as I became properly aware of the noise of the crowd, which was screaming and applauding as loudly as the Irish supporters at the World Cup -

"Look at that!" Bagman was yelling. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champions are quickest to get their egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr. Potter and Miss Power!"

I spotted the dragon keepers rushing forward to subdue the Horntail, as I stumbled to my feet, using my Firebolt to support my weight. Over at the entrance to the enclosure, Professor McGonagall, Professor Moody, and Hagrid were hurrying to meet us, all of them waving us toward them, their smiles evident even from this distance. Harry flew back over the stands, and came in smoothly to land beside me, both our hearts lighter than they had been in weeks...We had gotten through the first task, we had survived...

"That was excellent, Potter, Power!" Professor McGonagall cried as he got off his Firebolt - which from her was extravagant praise. We noticed that her hand shook as she pointed at his shoulder and my arm, "You'll both need to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score...Over there, she's had to mop up Diggory already..."

"Yeh both did it, Harry, Cheyenne!" Hagrid said hoarsely. "Yeh did it! An' agains' the Horntail an' all, an' yeh both know Charlie said that was the wors' -"

"Thanks, Hagrid!" Harry said loudly, so that Hagrid wouldn't blunder on and reveal that he had shown Harry and I the dragons beforehand.

Professor Moody looked very pleased too; his magical eye was dancing in its socket.

"Nice and easy does the trick, Potter, Power," he growled.

"Right then, Potter, Power, the first aid tent, please..." Professor McGonagall said.

Harry and I walked out of the enclosure, still panting, and saw Madam Pomfrey standing at the mouth of a second tent, looking worried.

"Dragons!" she said, in a disgusted tone, pulling Harry and I inside. The tent was divided into cubicles; we could make out Cedric's shadow through the canvas, but Cedric didn't seem to be badly injured; he was sitting up, at least. Madam Pomfrey examined Harry's shoulder first, talking furiously all the while. "Last year dementors, this year dragons, what are they going to bring into this school next? You're very lucky...this is quite shallow...it'll need cleaning before I heal it up, though..."

She cleaned the cut with a dab of some purple liquid that smoked and looked to sting, but then poked his shoulder with her wand, and it healed instantly.

"Now, just sit quietly for a minute - _sit_! I need to look at Power and then you two can go and get your score."

She turned to me and rolled up my sleeve, being careful and looked at the burn, "Eh, not bad. First degree burns." Turning, she pulled a small jar off a side table and opened it. Inside was a thick, orange paste that she spread on my burn. I flinched at the pain that came from it, but sighed in relief as the paste took affect.

She bustled out of the tent and we heard her go next door and say, "How does it feel now, Diggory?"

Neither Harry nor I wanted to sit still: We were both too full of adrenaline. Getting to our feet, we wanted to see what was going on outside, but before we'd reached the mouth of the tent, three people had come darting inside - Hermione, followed closely by Ron and Fred.

"Harry, Cheyenne, you were both brilliant!" Hermione said squeakily as Fred pulled me into a bone-breaking hug, still shaking perfusely. There were fingernail marks on Hermione's face where she had been clutching it in fear. "You were amazing! You both really were!"

But as Fred pulled back, saying Harry and I were brilliant we well, I noticed Harry looking at Ron, who was very white and staring at us as though we were ghosts.

"Harry, Chey..." he said, very seriously, "whoever put your names in that goblet - I - I reckon they're trying to do you both in!"

It was as though the last few weeks had never happened - as though Harry and I were meeting Ron for the first time, right after we'd been made champions.

"Caught on, have you?" Harry said coldly. "Took you long enough."

"Harry..." I said softly, but Fred rubbed my shoulder, making me pause. Hermione stood nervously between them, looking from one to the other. Ron opened his mouth uncertainly. I knew Ron was about to apologize and suddenly Harry looked as though he didn't need to hear it.

"It's okay," he said, before Ron could get the words out. "Forget it."

"No," Ron said, "I shouldn't've -"

_"Forget it,"_ Harry said.

Ron grinned nervously at him, and Harry grinned back.

Hermione burst into tears. A few tears escaped my eyes and I giggled.

"There's nothing to cry about!" Harry told her, bewildered.

"You two are so _stupid_!" she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then, before either of them could stop her, she had given both of them a hug and dashed away, now positively howling.

"Barking mad," Ron said, shaking his head. "Harry, Chey, c'mon, they'll be putting up your scores..."

Picking up the golden egg and our Firebolts, feeling more elated than we would have believed possible an hour ago, Harry and I ducked out of the tent, Ron and Fred by our sides, Ron talking fast.

"You were both the best, you know, no competition. Cedric did this weird thing where he Transfigured a rock on the ground...turned it into a dog...he was trying to make the dragon go for the dog instead of him. Well, it was a pretty cool bit of Transfiguration, and it sort of worked, because he did get the egg, but he got burned as well - the dragon changed its mind halfway through and decided it would rather have him than the Labrador; he only just got away. And that Fleur girl tried this sort of charm, I think she was trying to put it into a trance - well, that kind of worked too, it went all sleepy, but then it snored, and this great jet of flame shot out, and her skirt caught fire - she put it out with a bit of water out of her wand. And Krum - you won't believe this, but he didn't even think of flying! He was probably the best after you, though. Hit it with some sort of spell right in the eye. Only thing is, it went trampling around in agony and squashed half the real eggs - they took marks off for that, he wasn't supposed to do any damage to them."

Rose drew breath as he, Harry, Fred, and I reached the edge of the enclosure. Now that the Horntail had been taken away, Harry and I could see where the five judges were sitting - right at the other end, in raised seats draped in gold.

"It's marks out of ten from each one," Ron said, and Harry and I, squinting up the field, saw the first judge - Madam Maxime - raise her wand in the air. What looked like a long silver ribbon shot out of it, which twisted itself into a large figure eight.

"Not bad!" Ron said as the crowd applauded. "I suppose she took marks off for your shoulder and arm..."

Mr. Crouch came next. He shot a number nine into the air.

"Looking good!" Ron yelled, thumping Harry on the back.

Next, Dumbledore. He too put up a nine. The crowd was cheering harer than ever.

Ludo Bagman - _ten_

"Ten?" Harry and I said together in disbelief. "But...we got hurt...What's he playing at?"

"Harry, Chey, don't complain!" Ron yelled excitedly.

And now Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused for a moment, and then a number shot out of his wand too - four.

_"What?"_ Ron bellowed furiously. _"Four?_ You lousy, biased scumbag, you gave Krum ten!"

But neither Harry nor I cared, we wouldn't have cared if Karkaroff had given us zero; Ron's indignation on our behalf was worth about a hundred points to us. We didn't tell Ron this, of course, but our hearts felt lighter than air as we turned to leave the enclosure. And it wasn't just Ron...those weren't only Gryffindors cheering in the crowd. When it had come down to it, when they had seen what we were facing, most of the school had been on our side as well as Cedric's...We didn't care about the Slytherins, we could stand whatever they threw at us now.

"You're both tied in first place, Harry, Cheyenne! You two and Krum!" Charlie Weasley said, hurrying to meet us as we set off back toward the school. "Listen, I've got to run, I've got to go and send Mum an owl, I swore I'd tell her what happened - but that was unbelievable! Oh yeah and they told me to tell you both you've got to hang around for a few more minutes...Bagman wants a word, back in the champions' tent."

Ron and Fred said they would wait, so Harry and I reentered the tent, which somehow looked quite different now: friendly and welcoming. We thought back to how we'd felt while dodging the Horntail, and compared it to the long wait before we'd walked out to face it...There was no comparison; the wait had been immeasurably worse.

Fleur, Cedric, and Krum all came in together. One side of Cedric's face was covered in the same thick orange paste Madam Pomfrey had used on my burn. He grinned at Harry and I when he saw us.

"Good one, Harry, Cheyenne."

"And you," Harry and I said, grinning back.

"Well done, _all_ of you!" Ludo Bagman said, bouncing into the tent and looking as pleased as though he personally had just got past a dragon. "Now, just a quick few words. You've got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth - but we're giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those golden eggs you're all holding, you will see that they open...see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg - because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!"

Harry and I left the tent, rejoined Ron and Fred, and we started to walk back around the edge of the forest, talking hard; Harry and I wanted to hear what the other champions had done in more detail. Then, as we rounded the clump of trees behind which Harry and I had first heard the dragons roar, a witch leapt out from behind us.

It was Rita Skeeter. She was wearing acid-green robes today; the Quick-Quotes Quill in her hand blended perfectly against them.

"Congratulations, Harry, Cheyenne!" she said, beaming at us. "I wonder if you both could give me a quick word? How you both felt facing that dragon? How you both feel _now_, about the fairness of the scoring?"

"Yeah, you can have a word," Harry and I said savagely. _"Good-bye."_

And we set off back to the castle with Ron and Fred.


	21. The HouseElf Liberation Front

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**The House-Elf Liberation Front**

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I went up to the Owlery that evening to find Pigwidgeon, so that Harry and I could send Sirius a letter telling him that we had managed to get past our dragon unscathed. On the way, Harry filled Ron in on everything Sirius had told us about Karkaroff. Though shocked at first to hear that Karkaroff had been a Death Eater, by the time we entered the Owlery Ron was saying that we ought to have suspected it all along.

"Fits, doesn't it?" he said. "Remember what Malfoy said on the train, about his dad being friends with Karkaroff? Now we know where they knew each other. They were probably running aorund in masks together at the World Cup...I'll tell you one thing, though, Harry, Cheyenne, if it _was_ Karkaroff who put your names in the goblet, he's going to be feeling really stupid now, isn't he? Didn't work, did it? You both only got some scratches! Come here - I'll do it -"

Pigwidgeon was so overexcited at the idea of a delivery he was flying around and around Harry's head, hooting incessantly. Ron snatched Pigwidgeon out of the air and held him still while Harry attached the letter to his leg.

"There's no way any of the other tasts are going to be that dangerous, how could they be?" Ron went on as he carried Pigwidgeon to the window. "You know what? I reckon you both could win this tournament, Harry, Chey, I'm serious."

Harry and I looked at each other, knowing that Ron was only saying this to make up for his behavior of the last few weeks, but we appreciated it all the same. Hermione, however, leaned against the Owlery wall, folded her arms, and frowned at Ron.

"Harry and Chey've got a long way to go before they finish this torunament," she said seriously. "If that was the first task, I hate to think what's coming next."

"Right little ray of sunshine, aren't you?" Ron said. "You and Professor Trelawney should get together sometime."

He threw Pigwidgeon out of the window. Pigwidgeon plummeted twelve feet before managing to pull himself back up again; the letter attached to his leg was much longer and heavier than usual - neither Harry nor I had been able to resist giving Sirius a blow-by-blow account of exactly how we had swerved, circled, and dodged the Horntail. We watched Pigwidgeon disappear into the darkness, and then Ron said, "Well, we'd better get downstairs for your surprise party, Harry, Chey - Fred and George should have nicked enough food from the kitchens by now."

Sure enough, when we entered the Gryffindor common room it exploded with cheers and yells again. There were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every surface; Lee Jordan had let off some Filibuster's Fireworks, so that the air was thick with stars and sparks, and Dean Thomas, who was very good at drawing, had put up some impressive new banners, most of which depicted Harry and I zooming around the Horntail's head on our Firebolts, though a couple showed Cedric with his head on fire.

Harry and I helped ourselves to food; we had almost forgotten what it was like to feel properly hungry, and sat down with Ron and Hermione. Neither of us could believe how happy we felt; we had Ron back on our side, we'd gotten through the first task, and we wouldn't have to face the second one for three months.

"Blimey, this is heavy," Lee Jordan said, picking up the golden egg, which Harry had left on a table, and weighing it in his hands. "Open it, Harry, Chey, go on! Let's just see what's inside it!"

"They're supposed to work out the clue on their own," Hermione said swiftly. "It's in the tournament rules..."

"We were supposed to work out how to get past the dragon on our own too," Harry muttered, so only Hermione and I could hear him, and she grinned rather guiltily.

"Yeah, go on, Harry, Cheyenne, open it!" several people echoed.

Lee passed Harry and I the egg. Balancing it between us, we each dug our fingernails into the groove that ran all the way around it and prised it open.

It was hollow and completely empty - but the moment Harry and I opened it, the most horrible noise, a loud and screechy wailing, filled the room. The nearest thing to it either Harry or I had ever heard was the ghost orchestra at Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party, who had all been playing the musical saw.

"Shut it!" Fred bellowed, his hands over his ears.

"What was that?" Seamus Finnigan asked, staring at the egg as Harry slammed it shut again. "Sounded like a banshee...Maybe you've both got to get past one of those next, Harry, Cheyenne!"

"It was someone being tortured!" Neville said, who had gone very white and spilled sausage rolls all over the floor. "You're both going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!"

"Don't be a prat, Neville, that's illegal," George said. "They wouldn't use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing...maybe you've both got to attack him while he's in the shower, Harry, Chey?"

"Want a jam tart, Hermione?" Fred said suddenly.

Hermione looked doubtly at the plate he was offering her. Fred grinned.

"It's all right," he said. "I haven't done anything to them. It's the custard creams you've got to watch -"

Neville, who had just bitten into a custard cream, choked and spat it out. Fred laughed.

"Just my little joke, Neville..."

Hermione took a jam tart. Then she said, "Did you get all this from the kitchens, Fred?"

"Yep," Fred said, grinning at her. He put on a high-pitched squeak and imitated a house-elf. " 'Anything we can get you, sir, anything at all!' They're dead helpful...get me a roast ox if I said I was peckish."

"How do you get in there?" Hermione asked in an innocently casual sort of voice.

"Easy," Fred said, "concealed door behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Just tickle the pear, and it giggles and -" He stopped and looked suspiciously at her. "Why?"

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly.

"Going to try and lead the house-elves out on strike now, are you?" George said. "Going to up all the leaflet stuff and try and stir them up into rebellion?"

Several people chortled. Hermione didn't answer.

"Don't you go upsetting them and telling them they've got to take clothes and salaries!" Fred said warningly. "You'll put them off their cooking!"

Just then, Neville caused a slight diversion by turning into a large canary.

"Oh - sorry Neville!" Fred shouted over all the laughter. "I forgot - it _was_ the custard creams we hexed -"

Within a minute, however, Neville had molted, and once his feathers had fallen off, he reappeared looking entirely normal. He even joined in laughing.

"Canary Creams!" Fred shouted to the excitable crowd. "George and I invented them - seven Sickles each, a bargain!"

It was nearly one in the morning when I finally went up to the dormitory with Hermione, Lavender and Patil. The last of our dormmates was already asleep as we pulled on our nightgowns and fell into our beds. As I pulled the hangings on my four-poster closed, I remembered the tiny model of the Hungarian Horntail and reminded myself to talk to Harry about what we would do with it. _Really,_ I thought, as I reclined back into my pillows and pulled my blankets up to my chin, _Hagrid had a point...they were all right, really, dragons..._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The start of December brought wind and sleet to Hogwarts. Drafty though the castle always was in winter, Harry and I were glad of its fires and thick walls every time we passed the Durmstrang ship on the lake, which was pitching in the high winds, its black sails billowing against the dark skies. We thought the Beauxbatons caravan was likely to be pretty chilly too. Hagrid, we noticed, was keeping Madam Maxime's horses well provided with their preferred drink of single-malt whiskey; the fumes wafting from the trough in the corner of their paddock was enough to make the entire Care of Magical Creatures class light-headed. This was unhelpful, as we were still tending the horrible skrewts and needed our wits about us.

"I'm not sure whether they hibernate or not," Hagrid told the shivering class in the windy pumpkin patch next lesson. "Thought we'd jus' try an' see if they fancied a kip...we'll jus' settle 'em down in these boxes..."

There were now only ten skrewts left; apparently their desire to kill one another had not been exercised out of them. Each of them was now approaching six feet in length. Their thick gray armor, their powerful, scuttling legs; their fire-blasting ends; their stings and their suckers, combined to make the skrewts the most repulsive things either Harry or I had ever seen. The class looked dispiritedly at the enormous boxes Hagrid had brought out, all lined with pillows and fluffy blankets.

"We'll jus' lead 'em in here," Hagrid said, "an' put the lids on, and we'll see what happens."

But the skrewts, it transpired, did _not_ hibernate, and did not appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in. Hagrid was soon yelling, "Don' panic, now, don' panic!" while the skrewts rampaged around the pumpkin patch, now strewn with the smoldering wreckage of the boxes. Most of the class - Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle in the lead - had fled into Hagrid's cabin through the back door and barricaded themselves in; Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, however, were among those who remained outside trying to help Hagrid. Together we managed to restrain and tie up nine of the skrewts, though at the cost of numerous burns and cuts; finally, only one skrewt was left.

"Don' frighten him, now!" Hagrid shouted as Ron and Harry used their wands to shoot jets of fiery sparks at the skrewt, which was advancing menacingly on them, its sting arched, quivering over its back. "Jus' try an' slip the rope 'round his sting, so he won' hurt any o' the others!"

"Yeah, we wouldn't want that!" Ron shouted angrily as he and Harry backed into the wall of Hagrid's cabin, still holding the skrewt off with their sparks. Hermione was gripping my arm just to keep me from dashing over to help them.

"Well, well, well...this _does_ look like fun."

Rita Skeeter was leaning on Hagrid's garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.

Hagrid launched himself forward on top of the skrewt that was cornering Harry and Ron and flattened it; a blast of fire shot out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby.

"Who're you?" Hagrid asked Rita Skeeter as he slipped a loop of rope around the skrewt's sting and tightened it.

"Rita Skeeter, _Daily Prophet_ reporter," Rita replied, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinted.

"Thought Dumbledore said you weren' allowed inside the school anymore," Hagrid said, frowning slightly as he got off the slightly squashed skrewt and started tugging it over to its fellows.

Rita acted as though she hadn't heard what Hagrid had said.

"What are these faciniating creatures called?" she asked, beaming still more widely.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts," Hagrid grunted.

"Really?" Rita said, apparently full of lively interest. "I've never heard of them before...where do they come from?"

I noticed a dull red flush rising up out of Hagrid's wild black beard. I caught Harry's eye, and my heart sank. Where _had_ Hagrid got the skrewts from? Hermione, who seemed to be thinking along these lines, said quickly, "They're very interesting, aren't they? Aren't they, Harry, Chey?"

"What? Oh yeah...ouch...interesting," Harry and I said as she stepped on each of our feet.

"Ah, _you're_ both here, Harry, Cheyenne!" Rita Skeeter said as she looked around. "So you both like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favorite lessons?"

"Yes," Harry and I said stoutly. Hagrid beamed at us.

"Lovely," Rita said. "Really lovely. Been teaching long?" she added to Hagrid.

I noticed her eyes travel over Dean (who had a nasty cut across one cheek), Lavender (whose robes were badly singed), Seamus (who was nursing several burnt fingers), and then to the cabin windows, where most of the class stood, their noses pressed against the glass waiting to see if the coast was clear.

"This is o'ny me second year," Hagrid said.

"Lovely...I dont' suppose you'd like to give an interview, would you? Share some of your experience of magical creatures? The _Prophet_ does a zoological column every Wednesday, as I'm sure you know. We could feature these - er - Bang-Ended Scoots."

"Blast-Ended Skrewts," Hagrid said eagerly. "Er - yeah, why not?"

Harry and I had a very bad feeling about this, but there was no way of communicating it to Hagrid without Rita Skeeter seeing, so we had to stand and watch in silence as Hagrid and Rita Skeeter made arrangements to meet in the Three Broomsticks for a good long interview later that week. Then the bell rang up at the castle, signaling the end of the lesson.

"Well, good-bye, Harry, Cheyenne!" Rita Skeeter called merrily to us as we set off with Ron and Hermione. "Until Friday night, then, Hagrid!"

"She'll twist everything he says," Harry said under his breath.

"Just as long as he didn't import those skrewts illegally or anything," Hermione said desperately. We looked at one another - it was exactly the sort of thing Hagrid might do.

"Hagrid's been in loads of trouble before, and Dumbledore's never sacked him," Ron said consolingly. "Worst that can happen is Hagrid'll have to get rid of the skrewts. Sorry...did I say worst? I meant best."

Harry, Hermione, and I laughed, and, feeling slightly more cheerful, went off to lunch.

Harry and I thoroughly enjoyed double Divination that afternoon; we were still doing star charts and predictions, but now that we and Ron were friends once more, the whole thing seemed very funny again. Professor Trelawney, who had been so pleased with the pair of them when they had been predicting their own horrific deaths, quickly became irritated as we sniggered through her explaination of the various ways in which Pluto could disrupt everyday life.

"I would _think_," she said, in a mystical whisper that did not conceal her obvious annoyance, "that _some_ of us" - she stared very meaningfully at Harry and I - "might be a little less _frivolous_ had they seen what I have seen during my crystal gazing last night. As I sat here, absorbed in my needlework, the urge to consult the orb overpowered me. I arose, I settled myself before it, and I gazed into its crystalline depths...and what do you think I saw gazing back at me?"

"An ugly old bat in outsize specs?" Ron muttered under his breath.

I chewed my lip and Harry fought hard to keep his face straight.

_"Death_, my dears."

Parvati and Lavender both put their hands over their mouths, looking horrified.

"Yes," Professor Trelawney said, nodding impressively, "it comes, ever closer, it circles overhead like a vulture, ever lower...ever lower over the castle..."

She stared pointedly at Harry and I, both of whom yawned very widely and obviously.

"It'd be a bit more impressive if she hadn't done it about eighty times before," Harry said as we finally regained the fresh air of the staircase beneath Professor Trelawney's room. "But if Chey and I'd dropped dead every time she's told us we're going to, we'd be medical miracles."

"You'd both be sort of extra-concentrated ghosts," Ron said, chortling, as we passed the Bloody Baron going in the opposite direction, his wide eyes staring sinisterly. "At least we didn't get homework. I hope Hermione got loads off Professor Vector, I love not working when she is..."

But Hermione wasn't at dinner, nor was she in the library when we went to look for her afterward. The only person in there was Viktor Krum. Ron hovered behind the bookshelves for a while, watching Krum, debating in whispers with Harry whether he should ask for an autograph - but then Ron realized that six or seven girls were lurking in the next row of books, debating exactly the same thing, and he lost his enthusiasm for the idea.

"Wonder where she's got to?" Ron said as he, Harry, and I went back to Gryffindor Tower.

"Dunno, balderdash."

But the Fat Lady had barely begun to swing forward when the sound of racing feet behind us announced Hermione's arrival.

"Harry! Chey!" she panted, skidding to a halt beside us (the Fat Lady stared down at her, eyebrows raised). "Harry, Chey, you've both got to come - you've both _got_ to come, the most amazing thing's happened - please -"

She seized my arm and started to try to drag me back along the corridor.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"I'll show you when we get there - oh come on, quick -"

I looked around at Harry and Ron; they looked back at me, intrigued.

"Okay," I said, grabbing Harry's hand and starting off back down the corridor with him and Hermione, Ron hurrying to keep up.

"Oh don't mind me!" the Fat Lady called irritably after us. "Don't apologize for bothering me! I'll just hang here, wide open, until you get back, shall I?"

"Yeah, thanks!" Ron shouted over his shoulder.

"Hermione, where are we going?" Harry asked, after she had led us down through six floors, and started down the marble staircase into the entrance hall.

"You'll see, you'll see in a minute!" Hermione said excitedly.

She turned left at the bottom of the staircase and hurried toward the door through which Cedric Diggory had gone the night after the Goblet of Fire had regurgitated his and my and Harry's names. Neither Harry nor I had ever been through here before. We and Ron followed Hermione down a flight of stone steps, but instead of ending up in a gloomy underground passage like the one that led to Snape's dungeon, we found ourselves in a broad stone corridor, brightly lit with torches, and decorated with cheerful paintings that were mainly of food.

"Oh hang on..." Harry said slowly, halfway down the corridor. "Wait a minute, Hermione..."

"What?" she turned around to look at him, anticipation all over her face.

"I know what this is about," Harry said.

Having caught on as soon as we'd reached this corridor, I nudged Ron and pointed to the painting just behind Hermione. It showed a gigantic silver fruit bowl.

"Hermione!" Ron said, cottoning on. "You're trying to rope us into that spew stuff again!"

"No, no, I'm not!" she said hastily. "And it's not _spew_, Ron -"

"Changed the name, have you?" Ron said, frowning at her. "What are we now, then, the House-Elf Liberation Front? I'm not barging into that kitchen and trying to make them stop work, I'm not doing it -"

"I'm not asking you to!" Hermione said impatiently. "I came down here just now, to talk to them all, and I found - oh come _on_, Harry, Cheyenne, I want to show you!"

She seized my arm again, I subconsciously gripped Harry's hand tighter, and she pulled us in front of the picture of the giant fruit bowl, stretched out her forefinger, and tickled the huge green pear. It began to squirm, chuckling, and suddenly turned into a large green door handle. Hermione seized it, pulled the door open, and pushed Harry and I each hard in the back, forcing us inside.

We had one brief glimpse of an enormous, high-ceilinged room, large as the Great Hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end, when something small hurtled toward us from the middle of the room squealing, "Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, sir and miss! _Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power!"_

Next second all the wind had been knocked out of me as the squealing elf hit me hard in the midriff, hugging me so tightly I thought my ribs would break. I tumbled back into Harry, who seized my upper arms, holding me upright.

"D-Dobby?" I gasped.

"It _is_ Dobby, miss, it is!' squealed the voice from somewhere around my navel. "Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, sir and miss, and Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power has come to see him, sir and miss!"

Dobby let go and stepped back a few paces, beaming up at Harry and I, his enormous, green, tennis-ball-shaped eyes brimming with tears of happiness. He looked almost exactly as Harry and I remembered him; the pencil-shaped nose, the batlike ears, the long fingers and feet - all except the clothes, which were very different.

When Dobby had worked for the Malfoys, he had always worn the same filthy old pillowcase. Now, however, he was wearing the strangest assortment of garments either Harry or I had ever seen; he had done an even worse job of dressing himself than the wizards at the World Cup. He was wearing a tea cozy for a hat, on which he had pinned a number of bright badges; a tie patterned with horseshoes over a bare chest, a pair of what looked like children's soccer shorts, and overlarge socks. Both of these, Harry and I saw, were the black ones he and I had removed from our own feet and tricked Mr. Malfoy into giving Dobby, thereby setting Dobby free.

"Dobby, what're you doing here?" Harry asked in amazement as I messaged my ribs and he kept me steady on my feet.

"Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir!" Dobby squealed excitedly. "Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby and Winky jobs, sir!"

"Winky?" I said, surprised. "She's here too?"

"Yes, miss, yes!" Dobby said, and he seized my and Harry's hands and pulled us off into the kitchen between the four long wooden tables that stood there. Each of these tables, we noticed as we passed them, was positioned exactly beneath the four House tables above, in the Great Hall. At the moment, they were clear of food, dinner having finished, but we supposed that an hour ago they had been laden with dishes that were then sent up through the ceiling to their counterparts above.

At least a hundred little elves were standing around the kitchen, beaming, bowing, and curtsying as Dobby led Harry and I past them. They were all wearing the same uniform: a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest, and tied, as Winky's had been, like a toga.

Dobby stopped in front of the brick fireplace and pointed.

"Winky, sir and miss!" he said.

Winky was sitting on a stool by the fire. Unlike Dobby, she had obviously not foraged for clothes. She was wearing a neat little skirt and blouse with a matching blue hat, which had holes in it for her large ears. However, while every one of Dobby's strange collection of garments was so clean and well cared for that it looked brand-new, Winky was plainly not taking care of her clothes at all. There were soup stains all down her blouse and a burn in her skirt.

"Hello, Winky," I said softly, letting go of Harry's hand and knelling beside her, smiling gently.

Winky's lip quivered. Then she burst into tears, which spilled out of her great brown eyes and splashed down her front, just as they had done at the Quidditch World Cup.

"Oh dear," Hermione said. She and Ron had followed Harry, Dobby, and I to the end of the kitchen. "Winky, don't cry, please don't..."

But Winky cried harder than ever. I got up and backed away, rejoining Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Dobby, meanwhile, beamed up at Harry and I.

"Would Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power like a cup of tea?" he squeaked loudly, over Winky's sobs.

"Er - yeah, okay," Harry said as I nodded.

Instantly, about six house-elves came trotting up behind us, bearing a large silver tray laden with a teapot, cups for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and myself, a milk jug, and a large plate of biscuits.

"Good service!" Ron said, in an impressed voice. Hermione frowned at him, but the elves all looked delighted; they bowed very low and retreated.

"How long have you been here, Dobby?" Harry asked as Dobby handed around the tea.

"Only a week, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby said happily. "Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir. You see, sir, it is very difficult for a house-elf who has been dismissed to get a new position, sir, very difficult indeed -"

At this, Winky howled even harder, her squashed-tomato of a nose dribbling all down her front, though she made no effort to stem the flow.

"Dobby has traveled the country for two whole years, sir and miss, trying to find work!" Dobby squeaked. "But Dobby hasn't found work, sir and miss, because Dobby wants paying now!"

The house-elves all around the kitchen, who had been listening and watching with interest, all looked away at these words, as though Dobby had said something rude and embarrassing. Hermione, however, said, "Good for you, Dobby!"

"Thank you, miss!" Dobby said, grinning toothily at her. "But most wizards doesn't want a house-elf who wants paying, miss. 'That's not the point of a house-elf,' they says, and they slammed the door in Dobby's face! Dobby likes work, but he wants to wear clothes and he wants to be paid, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power...Dobby likes being free!"

The Hogwarts house-elves had now started edging away from Dobby, as though he were carrying something contagious. Winky, however, remained where she was, though there was a definite increase in the volume of her crying.

"And then, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, Dobby goes to visit Winky, and finds out Winky has been freed too, sir and miss!" Dobby said delightedly.

At this, Winky flung herself forward off her stool and lay facedown on the flagged stone floor, beating her tiny fists upon it and positively screaming with misery. Hermione hastily dropped down to her knees beside her and tried to comfort her, but nothing she said made the slightest difference. Dobby continued with his story, shouting shrilly over Winky's screeches.

"And then Dobby had the idea, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, sir and miss! 'Why doesn't Dobby an Winky find work together?' Dobby says. 'Where is there enough work for two house-elves?' And Dobby thinks, and it comes to him, sir and miss! _Hogwarts!_ So Dobby and Winky came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir and miss, and Professor Dumbledore took us on!"

Dobby beamed very brightly, and happy tears welled in his eyes again.

"And Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby, sir and miss, if Dobby wants paying! And so Dobby is a free elf, sir and miss, and Dobby gets a Galleon a week and one day off a month!"

"That's not very much!" Hermione shouted indignantly from the floor, over Winky's continued screaming and fist-beating.

"Professor Dumbledore offered Dobby ten Galleons a week, and weekends off," Dobby said, suddenly giving a little shiver, as though the prospect of so much leisure and riches were frightening, "but Dobby beat him down, miss...Dobby likes freedom, miss, but he isn't wanting too much, miss, he likes work better."

"And how much is Professor Dumbledore paying _you_, Winky?" Hermione asked kindly.

If she thought this would cheer up Winky, she was wildly mistaken. Winky did stop crying, but when she sat up she was glaring at Hermione through her massive brown eyes, her whole face sopping wet and suddenly furious.

"Winky is a disgraced elf, but Winky is not yet getting paid!" she squeaked. "Winky is not sunk so low as that! Winky is properly ashamed of being freed!"

"Ashamed?" Hermione said blankly. "But - Winky, come on! It's Mr. Crouch who should be ashamed, not you! You didn't do anything wrong, he was really horrible to you -"

But at these words, Winky clapped her hands over the holes in her hat, flattening her ears so that she couldn't hear a word, and screeched, "You is not insulting my master, miss! You is not insulting Mr. Crouch! Mr. Crouch is a good wizard, miss! Mr. Crouch is right to sack bad Winky!"

"Winky is having trouble adjusting, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power," Dobby squeaked confidentially. "Winky forgets she is not bound to Mr. Crouch anymore; she is allowed to speak her mind now, but she won't do it."

"Can't house-elves speak their minds about their masters, then?" Harry and I asked.

"Oh no, sir and miss, no," Dobby said, looking suddenly serious. " 'Tis part of the house-elf's enslavement, sir and miss. We keeps their secrets and our silence, sir and miss. We upholds the family's honor, and we never speaks ill of them - though Professor Dumbledore told Dobby he does not insist upon this. Professor Dumbledore said we is free to - to -"

Dobby looked suddenly nervous and beckoned Harry and I closer. Harry and I bent forward. Dobby whispered, "he said we is free to call him a - a barmy old codger if we likes, sir and miss!"

Dobby gave a frightened sort of giggle.

But Dobby is not wanting to, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power," he said, talking normally again, and shaking his head so that his ears flapped. "Dobby likes Professor Dumbledore very much, sir and miss, and is proud to keep his secrets and our silence for him."

"But you can say what you like about the Malfoys now?" Harry asked him, grinning. I smirked in agreement.

A slightly fearful look came into Dobby's immense eyes.

"Dobby - Dobby could," he said doubtfully. He squared his small shoulders. "Dobby could tell Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power that his old masters were - were - _bad Dark wizards_!"

Dobby stood for a moment, quivering all over, horror-struck by his own daring - then he rushed over to the nearest table and began banging his head on it very hard, squealing, _"Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"_

Harry and I each seized Dobby by the back of his tie and pulled him away from the table.

"Thank you, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, thank you," Dobby said breathlessly, rubbing his head.

"You just need a bit of practice," I said gently.

"Practice!" Winky squealed furiously. "You is ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dobby, talking that way about your masters!"

"They isn't my masters anymore, Winky!" Dobby said defiantly. "Dobby doesn't care what they think anymore!"

"Oh you is a bad elf, Dobby!" Winky moaned, tears leaking down her face once more. "My poor Mr. Crouch, what is he doing without Winky? He is needing me, he is needing my help! I is looking after the Crouches all my life, and my mother is doing it before me, and my grandmother is doing it before her...oh what is they saying if they knew Winky was freed? Oh the shame, the shame!" She buried her face in her skirt again and bawled.

"Winky," Hermione said firmly, "I'm quite sure Mr. Crouch is getting along perfectly well without you. We've seen him, you know -"

"You is seeing my master?" Winky said breathlessly, raising her tearstained face out of her skirt once more and goggling at Hermione. "You is seeing him here at Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Hermione said, "he and Mr. Bagman are judges in the Triwizard Tournament."

"Mr. Bagman comes too?" Winky squeaked, and to my and Harry's great surprise (and Ron's and Hermione's too, by the looks on their faces), she looked angry again, "Mr. Bagman is a bad wizard! A very bad wizard! My master isn't liking him, oh no, not at all!"

"Bagman - bad?" I questioned.

"Oh yes," Winky said, nodding her head furiously. "My master is telling Winky some things! But Winky is not saying...Winky - Winky keeps her master's secrets..."

She dissolved yet again in tears; we could hear her sobbing into her skirt, "Poor master, poor master, no Winky to help him no more!"

We couldn't get another sensible word out of Winky. We left her to her crying and finished our tea, while Dobby chatted happily about his life as a free elf and his plans for his wages.

"Dobby is going to buy a sweater next, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power!" he said happily, pointing at his bare chest.

"Tell you what, Dobby," Ron said, who seemed to have taken a great liking to the elf, "I'll give you the one my mum knits me this Christmas, I always get one from her. You don't mind maroon, do you?"

Dobby was delighted.

"We might have to shrink it a bit to fit you," Ron told him, "but it'll go well with you tea cozy."

As we prepared to take our leave, many of the surrounding elves pressed in upon us, offering snacks to take back upstairs. Hermione refused, with a pained look at the way the elves kept bowing and curtsying, but Harry and Ron loaded their pockets with cream cakes and pies. I politely declined their offers, but thanked them for asking.

"Thanks a lot!" Harry said to the elves, who had all clustered around the door to say good night. "See you, Dobby!"

"Harry Potter...Cheyenne Power...can Dobby come and see you sometimes, sir and miss?" Dobby asked tentatively.

" 'Course you can," Harry and I said, and Dobby beamed.

"You know what?" Ron said, once he, Hermione, Harry, and I had left the kitchens behind and were climbing the steps into the entrance hall again. "All these years I've been really impressed with Fred and George, nicking food from the kitchens - well, it's not exactly difficult, is it? They can't wait to give it away!"

"I think this is the best thing that could have happened to those elves you know," Hermione said, leading the way back up the marble staircase. "Dobby coming to work here, I mean. The other elves will see how happy he is, being free, and slowly it'll dawn on them that they want that too!"

"Let's hope they don't look too closely at Winky," Harry said.

"Oh she'll cheer up," Hermione said, though she sounded a bit doubtful. "Once the shock's worn off, and she's got used to Hogwarts, she'll see how much better off she is without that Crouch man."

"She seems to love him," Ron said thickly (he had just started on a cream cake).

"Doesn't think much of Bagman, though, does she?" Harry said. "Wonder what Crouch says at home about him?"

"Probably says he's not a very good Head of Department," I said, "and let's face it...he's got a point, hasn't he?"

"I'd still rather work for him then old Crouch," Ron said. "At least Bagman's got a sense of humor."

"Don't let Percy hear you saying that," Hermione said, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, well, Percy wouldn't want to work for anyone with a sense of humor, would he?" Ron said, now starting on a chocolate eclair. "Percy wouldn't recognize a joke if it danced naked in front of him wearing Dobby's tea cozy."


	22. The Unexpected Task

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**The Unexpected Task**

"Potter! Weasley! _Will you pay attention?"_

Professor McGonagall's irritated voice cracked like a whip through the Transfiguration class on Thursday, and I watched Harry and Ron both jump and look up.

It was the end of the lesson; we had finished our work; the guinea fowl we had been changing into guinea pigs had been shut away in a large cage on Professor McGonagall's desk (Neville's still had feathers); we had copied down our homework from the blackboard (_"Describe, with examples, the ways in which Transforming Spells must be adapted when performing Cross-Species Switches."_). The bell was due to ring at any moment, and Harry and Ron, who had been having a sword fight with a couple of Fred and George's fake wands at the back of the class, looked up, Ron holding a tin parrot and Harry, a rubber haddock.

"Now that Potter and Weasley have been kind enough to act their age," Professor McGonagall said, with an angry look at the pair of them as the head of Harry's haddock drooped and fell silently to the floor - Ron's parrot's beak had severed it moments before - "I have something to say to you all.

"The Yule Ball is approaching - a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open only to fourth years and above - although you may invite a younger student if you wish -"

Lavender Brown let out a shrill giggle. Parvati Patil nudged her hard in the ribs, but I could see her face working furiously as she too fought not to giggle. They both looked around at Harry. Professor McGonagall ignored them, which seemed a tad unfair, as she had just told Harry and Ron off.

"Dress robes will be worn," Professor McGonagall continued, "and the ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Now then -"

Professor McGonagall stared deliberately around the class.

"The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to - er - let our hair down," she said, in a disapproving voice.

Lavender giggled harder than ever, with her hand pressed hard against her mouth to stifle the sound. I could see what was funny this time: Professor McGonagall, with her hair in a tight bun, looked as though she had never let her hair down in any sense.

"But that does NOT mean," Professor McGonagall went on, "that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if a Gryffindor student embarresses the school in any way."

The bell rang, and there was the usual scuffle of activity as everyone packed their bags and swung them onto their shoulders.

Professor McGonagall called above the noise, "Potter, Power - a word, if you please."

Wondering what she could need to talk to me about, I gently took Harry's hand and led him up to the teacher's desk, him shuffling gloomy behind me, assuming she was going to yell at him for his headless rubber haddock. Professor McGonagall waited until the rest of the class had gone, and then said, "Potter, Power, the champions and their partners -"

"What partners?" Harry said suddenly.

Professor McGonagall looked suspiciously at him as though she thought he was trying to be funny.

"Your partners for the Yule Ball, Potter," she said coldly. "Your _dance partners."_

My heart fluttered and heat rushed into my face.

"D-D-Dance partners?!" I squeaked. "We..." I looked at Harry, who was beginning to turn red himself, "We don't dance," I finished quietly, looking again at our teacher.

"Oh yes, you both do," Professor McGonagall said irritably. "That's what I'm telling you both. Traditionally, the champions and their partners open the ball."

I had a sudden mental image of myself in the sort of frilly dress Aunt Petunia always wore to Uncle Vernon's work parties, accompanying Fred to the ball, him dressed in handsome black robes and a daze worked it's way through my brain.

"We're not dancing," I heard Harry saying.

"It is traditional," Professor McGonagall said firmly, which brought me back, "You are both Hogwarts champions, and you will both do what is expected of you as representatives of the school. Now, although you two are a team in the tournament, you are not expected to accompany one another to the ball, you may choose whomever you wish to go with. So make sure you both get yourselves some partners, Potter, Power."

"But - we don't -"

"You heard me, Potter," Professor McGonagall said in a very final sort of way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week ago, I wouldn't have expected something like a ball to occur at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which in on itself was almost self explainatory. It wasn't exactly the kind of school that held dances of any kind, unlike Muggle Middle and High Schools. I'd never actually looked forward to going to a dance at school before Harry and I had come to Hogwarts, but the thought of the Yule Ball brought with it nothing but excitment and anticipation. Harry, however, seemed to want to have another round with the Hungarian Horntail.

Neither Harry nor I had ever known so many people to put their names down to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas; we both always did, of course, because the alternative was usually going back to Privet Drive, but we had always been very much in the minority before now. This year, however, everyone in the fourth year and above seemed to be staying, and they all seemed to Harry and I to be obsessed with the coming ball - or at least all the girls were, and it was truly amazing how many other girls Hogwarts suddenly seemed to hold; neither of us had ever quite noticed that before. Other girls giggling and whispering in the corridors, girls shrieking with laughter as boys passed them, girls excitedly comparing notes on what they were going to wear on Christmas night...Many of the boys were skirting about the halls, moving in pairs and trios, muttering to each other and pointing to the girls they were going to ask...

"Why do they have to move in packs?" Harry asked Ron as a dozen or so girls walked past us, sniggering and staring at Harry, shooting me glares every so often. "How're you supposed to get one on their own to ask them?"

"Lasso one?" Ron suggested. "Got any idea who you're going to try?"

I knew perfectly well who Harry'd _like_ to ask, but he was having a hard time working up the nerve...Cho was a year older than we were; she was very pretty; she was a very good Quidditch player, and she was also very popular.

Like myself, Ron seemed to know what was going on inside Harry's head.

"Listen, you're not going to have any trouble. You're a champion. You and Chey've just beaten a Hungarian Horntail. I bet they'll be queuing up to go with you."

In tribute to our recently repaired friendship, Ron had kept the bitterness in his voice to a bare minimum. Moreover, to my and Harry's amazement, he turned out to be quite right.

Although I already had a date to the Yule Ball myself, I got asked to attend by three other young men, one of whom I never even met face to face. The young man from Durmstrang, the one who had dribbled food all down his front the first night, I believe his name was Poliakoff, asked me to the ball the next day. I politely declined, telling him I already had a date. He walked off, looking hurt, and I sat through History of Magic, feeling horrible for putting him down like that. The following day, an intimadatingly surly seventh year boy from Slytherin cornered me in the corridor between classes and asked me to the ball, looking like he'd throw a major fit if I refused. Thankfully, I was saved by Hermione as soon as I'd politely refused and we escaped into our classroom before he could respond.

"That was truly horrifying..." I whispered, covering my face with my hands, still shaking from it.

"Well...he was rather handsome..." Hermione said, trying to reassure me.

"Yeah, but I was afraid of the outcome. He looked like he could tear my History of Magic book in half!"

The last one that asked me to the ball didn't even show his face, but rather, he sent me an invitation by owl. He seemed like a nice enough young man until the third letter, when he started trying to arrange for us to meet and started trying to find out who I was going to the ball with. It was starting to get rather creepy.

"That doesn't really sound good, Chey," Hermione said when I'd told her about the letters later that day. I'd confided in her about them after the letters had started to take a rather nasty turn. I'd considered telling Ron and Harry too, but I didn't want them to get worried, nor did I want Harry to become overprotective like he usually did.

Hermione's earlier words about Krum kept coming back to me, "They only like him because he's famous!" I doubted very much if any of the boys who had asked to be my partner so far would have wanted to go to the ball with me if I hadn't been a school champion. Thankfully, I knew that wasn't the case with Fred.

On the whole, I had to admit that even with the embarrassing prospect of opening the ball before me, life had definitely improved since Harry and I had got through the first task. Neither of us was attracting nearly as much unpleasantness in the corridors anymore, which we suspected had a lot to do with Cedric - we had an idea Cedric might have told the Hufflepuffs to leave Harry and I alone, in gratitude for our tip-off about the dragons. There seemed to be fewer _Support Cedric Diggory!_ badges around too. Draco Malfoy, of course, was still quoting Rita Skeeter's article at us at every possible opportunity, but he was getting fewer and fewer laughs out of it (he seemed to be getting nastier about it too, which was both annoying and frightening at the same time) - and just to heighten my and Harry's feeling of well-being, no story about Hagrid had appeared in the _Daily Prophet._

"She didn' seem very int'rested in magical creatures, ter tell yeh the truth," Hagrid said, when Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I asked him how his interview with Rita Skeeter had gone during the last Care of Magical Creatures lesson of the term. To our very great relief, Hagrid had given up on direct contact with the skrewts now, and we were merely sheltering behind Hagrid's cabin today, sitting at a trestle table and preparing a fresh selection of food with which to tempt the skrewts.

"She jus' wanted me ter talk about you two, Harry, Cheyenne," Hagrid continued in a low voice. "Well, I told her we'd been friends since I went ter fetch yeh both from the Dursleys. 'Never had to tell either of them off in four years?' she said. 'Never played you up in lessons, have they?' I told her no, an' she didn't seem happy at all. Yeh'd think she wanted me to say yeh were both horrible."

" 'Course she did," Harry said, throwing lumps of dragon liver into a large metal bowl and picking up his knife to cut some more. "She can't keep writing about what tragic little heros we are, it'll get boring."

"Yeah, Hagrid, she'll want a new way to explote us..." I said, slicing a few frog intestines into pieces before scraping them into the metal bowl.

"She wants a new angle, Hagrid," Ron said wisely as he shelled salamander eggs. "You were supposed to say Harry and Chey're mad delinquents!"

"But they're not!" Hagrid said, looking genuinely shocked.

"She should've interviewed Snape," Harry said grimly. "He'd give her the goods on us any day. _'Potter and Power have been crossing lines ever since they first arrived at this school...' _"

"Said that, did he?" Hagrid said, while Ron and Hermione laughed. "Well, yeh might've bent a few rules, Harry, Cheyenne, bu' yeh're all righ' really, aren' you?"

"Cheers, Hagrid," I said, grinning.

"You coming to this ball thing on Christmas Day, Hagrid?" Ron said.

"Though' I might look in on it, yeah," Hagrid said gruffly. "Should be a good do, I reckon. You'll both be openin' the dancin', won' yeh, Harry, Cheyenne? Are yeh takin' each other?"

"No, we're going with other people. I haven't got a partner yet, though..." Harry said, going red again. Hagrid didn't pursue the subject.

The last week of term became increasingly boisterous as it progressed. Rumors about the Yule Ball were flying everywhere, though neither Harry nor I believed half of them - for instance, that Dumbledore had bought eight hundred barrels of mulled mead from Madam Rosmerta. It seemed to be fact, however, that he had booked the Weird Sisters. Exactly who or what the Weird Sisters were neither Harry nor I knew, never having had access to a wizard's wireless, but we deduced from the wild excitement of those who had grown up listening to the WWN (Wizarding Wireless Network) that they were a very famous musical group.

Some of the teachers, like little Professor Flitwick, gave up trying to teach us much when our minds were so clearly elsewhere; he allowed us to play games in his lesson on Wednesday, and spent most of it talking to Harry and I about the perfect Summoning Charm we had used during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Other teachers were not so generous. Nothing would ever deflect Professor Binns, for example, from plowing on through his notes on goblin rebellions - as Binns hadn't let his own death stand in the way of continuing to teach, we supposed a small thing like Christmas wasn't going to put him off. It was amazing how he could make even bloody and vicious goblin riots sound as boring as Percy's cauldron-bottom report. Professors McGonagall and Moody kept us working until the very last second of our classes too, and Snape, of course, would no sooner let us play games in class than adopt Harry nor I. Staring nastily around at us all, he informed us that he would be testing us on poison antidotes during the last lesson of the term.

"Evil, he is," Ron said bitterly that night in the Gryffindor common room. "Springing a test on us on the last day. Ruining the last bit of term with a whole load of studying."

"Mmm...you're not exactly straining yourself, though, are you?" Hermione said, looking at him over the top of her Potions notes as I glanced around as well. Ron was busy building a card castle out of his Exploding Snap pack - a much more interesting pastime than with Muggle cards, because of the chance that the whole thing would blow up at any second.

"It's Christmas, Hermione," Harry said lazily; he was rereading _Flying with the Cannons_ for the tenth time in an armchair near the fire.

Hermione looked severely over at him too. "I'd have though you'd be doing something constructive, Harry, even if you don't want to learn your antidotes!"

"Like what?" Harry said as he watched one of the moving pictures in the book in front of him.

I sighed, laying my Potions book down on the table, "I think she's talking about our egg...But Hermione, we don't have to worry about figuring it out until February the twenty-fourth." I said as Harry nodded in agreement.

He had put the golden eggs upstairs in his trunk, and neither of us had opened it since the celebration party after the first task. There were still two and a half months to go until we needed to know what all the screechy wailing meant, after all.

"But it might take weeks to work it out!" Hermione said. "You're both going to look like real idiots if everyone else knows what the next task is and neither of you do."

"Leave them alone, Hermione, they've earned a bit of a break," Ron said, and he placed the last two cards on top of the castle and the whole lot blew up, singeing his eyebrows.

"Nice look, Ron...go well with your dress robes, that will."

It was Fred and George. They saw down at the table with Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I as Ron felt how much damage had been done. Fred wrapped an arm around my shoulders and kissed my forehead. My face warmed immediately.

"Ron, can we borrow Pigwidgeon?" George asked.

"No, he's off delivering a letter," Ron said. "Why?"

"Because George wants to invite him to the ball," Fred said sarcastically.

"Because _we_ want to send a letter, you stupid great prat," George said.

"Who d'you two keeping writing to, eh?" Ron asked.

"Nose out, Ron, or we'll burn that for you too," Fred said, waving his wand threateningly. "So...you lot got dates for the ball yet?"

"Nope," Ron said.

"Well, you'd better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will be gone," Fred said.

"Who're you going with, then?" Ron said.

"I'd think that'd be obvious," Fred said, raising his eyebrows as George said he was going to go with Angelina.

"What?" Ron said, taken aback. "You've already asked her?"

"Good point," George said. He turned his head and called across the common room. "Oi! Angelina!"

Angelina, who had been chatting with Alicia Spinnet near the fire, looked over at him.

"What?" she called back.

"Want to come to the ball with me?"

Angelina gave George an appraising sort of look.

"All right then," she said, and she turned back to Alicia and carried on chatting with a bit of a grin on her face.

"There you go," George said to Harry and Ron, "piece of cake."

He got to his feet, yawning, and said, "We'd better use a school owl then, Fred, come on..."

Fred got to his feet, gently squeezing my shoulder and kissed the top of my head before they left. Ron stopped feeling his eyebrows and looked across the smoldering wreck of his card castle at Harry.

"We _should_ get a move on, you know...ask someone. He's right. We don't want to end up with a pair of trolls."

Hermione let out a sputter of indignation. My eyebrows shot upward.

"A pair of..._what_, excuse me?"

"Well - you know," Ron said, shrugging. "I'd rather go alone than with - with Eloise Midgen, say."

"Her acne's loads better lately - and she's really nice!" I said, frowning deeply at him.

"Her nose is off-center," Ron said.

"Oh I see," Hermione said, bristling. "So basically, you're going to take the best-looking girl who'll have you, even if she's completely horrible?"

"Er - yeah, that sounds about right," Ron said.

"That's really shallow, Ron," I growled as Hermione said she was going to bed, and swept off toward the girls' staircase without another word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Hogwarts staff, demonstrating a continued desire to impress the visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, seemed determined to show the castle at its best this Christmas. When the decorations went up, Harry and I noticed that they were the most stunning we had yet seen inside the school. Everlasting icicles had been attached to the banisters of the marble staircase, the usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything from lumionous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls, and the suits of armor had all been bewitched to sing carols whenever anyone passed them. It was quite something to hear "O Come, All Ye Faithful" sung by an empty helmet that only knew half the words. Several times, Filch the caretaker had to extract Peeves from inside the armor, where he had taken to hiding, filling in the gaps in the songs with lyrics of his own invention, all of which were very rude.

And still, Harry hadn't asked Cho to the ball. He and Ron were getting very nervous now, though as Harry pointed out, Ron would look much less stupid than he would without a partner; Harry was supposed to be starting the dancing with me and the other champions.

"I suppose there's always Moaning Myrtle," he said gloomily, referring to the ghost who haunted the girls' toilets on the second floor.

"Oi - you two just need to grit your teeth and _do it!"_ I said, frowning. "This isn't a death sentence, it's asking a girl on a date..." I said, on Friday morning.

Both boys were silent for a moment. Then Ron spoke, in a tone that suggested they were planning the storming of an impregnable fortress, "You know, Chey's right...we've just got to do it. When we get back to the common room tonight, we'll both have partners - agreed?"

"Er...okay," Harry said.

However, every time we glimpsed Cho that day - during break, and then lunchtime, and once on the way to History of Magic - she was surrounded by friends. It didn't seem she went _anywhere_ alone. I could tell Harry was trying to think of a way to get her alone to ask her, but it seemed she didn't go anywhere without an escort of four or five girls. Yet if he didn't do it soon, there wasn't a doubt she'd be asked by someone else.

In Snape's Potions class that afternoon, I could tell right away that he was having a hard time concentrating on his test. Consequently, he forgot to add the key ingredient - a bazoar - and received bottom marks. He didn't seem to care, though; I knew he was too busy screwing up his courage for what he was going to do. When the bell rang, we grabbed our bags, and hurried to the dungeon door.

"We'll meet you are dinner," I said quickly to Ron and Hermione as we left, and I dashed off upstairs after Harry, wanting to help him as best I could with asking Cho to the ball.

As I ran after him through the packed corridors, squeezing past large groups of students, mostly other girls, I could _just_ hear snitches of what he was muttering to himself. He was just going to ask her for a private word, that was all...and ask if she'd go to the ball with him. Rather sooner than he probably expected, we found her, emerging from a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Harry froze at a corner, shaking, and I skid to a halt behind him, watching him trying to form words through his rapidly mumbling lips.

Taking matters into my own hands, I got my breathing up more than it currently was and dashed out to intercept them, crashing headlong into the wall in front of them and stumbling back, pretending to be disoriented before swinging around to face them. The girls had paused, looking at me weirdly. I started guestering wildly, and talking really fast.

"Cho - Cho, thing, wild, crazy. Need...help. Quick. THING!" I slurred wildly, guestering back up the corridor from where I'd come. The girls all glanced up the corridor, blinking in confusion. Cho finally stepped forward.

"Are you feeling, all right, Cheyenne? Do you need to go to Madam Pomfrey?" She asked softly, raising her eyebrows.

I shook my head, "No...help...need you to come! Please. I don't know anyone else who could help me with this!" I said, swinging around again and smashing headlong into the wall once more, which caused me to fall back and land on my back on the floor. Cho grabbed my arm and help me up again, "All right, I'll come. Just, please, don't run into anymore walls." She said worriedly, frowning and looking at my face for bruises. I smiled gratefully at her and dragged her down the corridor and around the corner where Harry was hiding, out of earshot of her classmates.

"Oh, hello, Harry," she said, smiling at him as we stopped. She glanced at me, blinking in confusion. I averted my eyes and pretended to be interested in something on the ceiling.

"Erm, I think I see something over there. Oooh, it's shiny!" I said quickly, skirting off to let Harry and Cho have time to talk by themselves. I had moved far enough away to not entrude, but not too far that I couldn't hear them. I was being nosy, but I wanted to make sure I was there to help Harry if she didn't accept his offer. I first heard a rush of words from Harry.

"Wangoballwime?"

"Sorry?" Cho said and I hit my forehead against the corridor wall.

"D'you - d'you want to go to the ball with me?" Harry asked and I lifted my head just slightly to look over my shoulder, seeing him turn red.

"Oh!" Cho said, going red as well. "Oh, Harry, I'm really sorry," and she truly looked it. "I've already said I'll go with someone else."

"Oh," Harry said. My heart nearly stopped then at the hurt I knew he was going through, and I wished I could take it away and have to deal with it for him.

"Oh okay," he said, "no problem."

"I'm really sorry," she said again.

"That's okay," Harry said.

I watched them stand there looking at each other, and then Cho broke the silence, "Well -"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Well, 'bye," Cho said, still very red. She started to walk away and I approached Harry.

"Wait," I called after her, my voice tight. "Who asked you? Who're you going with?"

She paused and turned to look at us again. "Oh - Cedric," She said softly. "Cedric Diggory."

"Thank you..." I said softly, tautly, taking Harry's hand and leading him away. I wasn't so mad at Cho, or Cedric for that matter, as I was at the thought of Harry being hurt by this information. I'd always been as protective of Harry as he had of me, and I loathed the idea of him being hurt, physically or mentally so.

Abandoning the idea of dinner, I led Harry, slowly, back up to Gryffindor Tower, Cho's voice ringing deafeningly in my head. I'd always kind of liked Cedric, had a kind of deep respect for him because of his kind disposition and the way in which he played Quidditch. While Helpers were rare in Quidditch, there were Seekers that hardly even needed one and Cedric was one of them. But I never expected something like this...why did he have to go for Cho, anyway? There were plenty of other girls here at Hogwarts that he could have asked, but yet he'd asked the very girl Harry had wanted so desperately to ask. It was unfair, unjust...

"Fairy lights," I said tautly to the Fat Lady - the password had been changed the previous day.

"Yes, indeed, dear!" she trilled, straightening her new tinsel hair band as she swung forward to admit us.

Entering the common room, Harrry and I looked around, and to our surprise we saw Ron sitting ashen-faced in a distant corner. Ginny was sitting with him, talking to him in what seemed to be a low, soothing voice.

"What's up, Ron?" Harry said as we joined them.

Ron looked up at Harry and I, a sort of blind horror on his face.

"Why did I do it?" he said wildly. "I don't know what made me do it!"

"What?" I asked softly.

"He - er - just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him," Ginny said. She looked as though she was fighting back a smile, but she kept patting Ron's arm sympathetically.

"You _what_?" Harry said.

"I don't know what made me do it!" Ron gasped again. "What was I playing at? There were people - all around - I've gone mad - everyone watching! I was just walking past her in the entrance hall - she was standing there talking to Diggory - and it sort of came over me - and I asked her!"

Ron moaned and put his face in his hands. He kept talking, though the words were barely distinguishable.

"She looked at me like I was a sea slug or something. Didn't even answer. And then - I dunno - I just sort of came to my senses and ran for it."

"She's part veela." Harry and I said. "You were right - her grandmother was one. It wasn't your fault, I bet you just walked past when she was turning on the old charm for Diggory and got a blast of it - but she was wasting her time. He's going with Cho Chang."

Ron looked up.

"I asked her to go with me just now," Harry said dully, "and she told me."

Ginny had suddenly stopped smiling.

"This is mad," Ron said. "We're the only ones left who haven't got anyone - well, except Neville. Hey - guess who he asked? _Hermione!"_

_"What?!"_ Harry said, completely distracted by this startling news. I shrugged, having known that before.

"Yeah, I know!" Ron said, some of the color coming back into his face as he started to laugh. "He told me after Potions! Said she's always been really nice, helping him out with work and stuff - but she told him she was already going with someone. Ha! As if! She just didn't want to go with Neville...I mean, who would?"

"Don't!" Ginny said, annoyed as I frowned irritably at him. "Don't laugh -"

Just then Hermione climbed in through the portrait hole.

"Why weren't any of you at dinner?" she said, coming over to join us.

"Because - oh shut up laughing, you two -" Ginny started to say before I sighed loudly, rolling my eyes.

" - because they both just got turned down by girls they asked to the ball." I said, crossing my arms.

That shut Harry and Ron up.

"Thanks a bunch, Chey," Ron said sourly.

"All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?" Hermione said loftily. "Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well, I'm sure you'll find someone _somewhere_ who'll have you."

But Ron was staring at Hermione as though suddenly seeing her in a whole new light before he did the same with me.

"Chey, Hermione, Neville's right - you both _are_ girls."

"Oh well spotted," we said acidly.

"Well - you can both come with us!"

"No, we can't," Hermione snapped.

"Oh come on," he said impatiently, "we need partners, we're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, everyone else has..."

"We can't come with either of you," I said quickly, raising my eyebrows, "because we're both already going with someone."

"No, you're not!" Ron said. "You both just said that to get rid of Neville! At least, we know _you_ did!" he said, narrowing his eyes on Hermione.

"Oh _did_ I?" Hermione said, and her eyes flashed dangerously. "Just because it's taken _you_ three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one _else_ has spotted Chey and I are girls!"

Ron stared at her. Then he grinned again.

"Okay, okay, we know you're girls," he said. "That do? Will you both come now?"

"We've already told you, Ron!" I cut in angrily. "We're both going with some...one..._else!_ Merlin's beard, you're daft..." With that, Hermione swept off toward the girls' dormitories again.

"She's lying," Ron said flatly, watching her go.

"She's not, neither of them are," Ginny said quietly.

"Who are they then?" Ron asked sharply.

"I would have figured who my date to the ball was would be _obvious_...as for Hermione's, it's her business, and _hers_ alone." I gritted out angrily, annoyed at his immaturity.

"Right," Ron said, who looked extremely put out, "this is getting stupid. Ginny, _you_ can go with Harry, and I'll just -"

"I can't," Ginny said, and she went scarlet. "I'm going with - with Neville. He asked me when Hermione said no, and I thought...well...I'm not going to be able to go otherwise, I'm not in fourth year." She looked extremely miserable. "I think I'll go and have dinner," she said, and she got up and walked off to the portrait hole, her head bowed.

Ron goggled at Harry.

"What's gotten in them, eh?" he demanded.

"Speak directly to the person you're talking about if they're still in the room, Ronald," I said, narrowing my eyes. Ron glared at me and opened his mouth to bite back a reply when I suddenly noticed Parvati and Lavender had come in through the portrait hole. My mind was made up before I could stop it.

"Wait here," I heard Harry say as I hurried toward them. I stopped them, telling them Harry and I needed to talk with them for a moment. Harry was there before I'd finished speaking, and he was talking to Parvati right away, "Parvati? Will you go to the ball with me?"

Parvati went into a fit of giggles. Harry and I waited for them to subside and I crossed my arms and fingers.

"Yes, all right then," she said finally, blushing furiously.

"Thanks," Harry said, in relief. I turned to Lavender, "Lavender - will you go with Ron?"

"She's going with Seamus," Parvati said, and the pair of them giggled harder than ever. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Can't you think of anyone who'd go with Ron?" he said, lowering his voice so that Ron wouldn't hear.

"What about Hermione Granger?" Parvati asked.

"She's going with someone else. As is Chey." he said, nodding at me.

Parvatic looked astonished, yet part knowing.

"Ooooh - _who_?" she asked keenly.

Harry shrugged. "No idea, neither of them will tell us," he said. "So what about Ron?"

"Well..." Parvati said slowly. "I suppose my sister might...Padma, you know...in Ravenclaw. I'll ask her if you like."

"Yeah, that would be great," Harry said. "Let me know, will you?"

And we went back over to Ron; I knew he felt that this ball was a lot more trouble than it was worth, and we both hoped very much that Padma Patil's nose was dead center.


	23. The Yule Ball

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**The Yule Ball**

Despite the very heavy load of homework that us fourth years had been given for the holidays, none of us were in any mood to work when term ended, and we spent the week leading up to Christmas enjoying ourselves as fully as possible. Gryffindor Tower was hardly less crowded now than during term-time; it seemed to have shrunk slightly too, as its inhabitants were being so much rowdier than usual. Fred and George had had a great success with their Canary Creams, and for the first couple of days of the holidays, people kept bursting into feather all over the place. Before long, however, all the Gryffindors had learned to treat food anybody offered them with extreme caution, in case it had a Canary Cream concealed in the center, and George confided to Harry and I that he and Fred were now working on developing something else. Harry and I each made a mental note never to accept so much as a crisp from Fred and George in the future. We still hadn't forgotten Dudley and the Ton-Tongue Toffee.

Snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid's cabin, while the Durmstrang ship's portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savory puddings, and only Fleur Delacour seemed to be able to find anything to complain about.

"It is too 'eavy, all zis 'Ogwarts food," we heard her saying grumpily as we left the Great Hall behind her one evening (Ron skulking behind Harry, keen not to be spotted by Fleur). "I will not fit into my dress robes!"

"Oooh there's a tragedy," Hermione snapped as Fleur went out into the entrance hall. "She really thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn't she?"

"Hermione - who are you going to the ball with?" Ron asked.

He kept springing this question on her, hoping to startle her into a response by asking it when she least expected it. However, Hermione merely frowned, and said, "I'm not telling you, you'll just make fun of me."

"You're joking, Weasley!" Malfoy said, behind us. "You're not telling me someone's asked _that_ to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?"

Harry and Ron both whipped around, but Hermione said loudly, waving to somebody over Malfoy's shoulder, "Hello, Professor Moody!"

Malfoy went pale and jumped backward, looking wildly around for Moody, but he was still up at the staff table, finishing his stew.

"Twitchy little ferret, aren't you, Malfoy?" I said scathingly, and me, Hermione, Harry, and Ron went up the marble staircase laughing heartily.

"Hermione," Ron said, looking sideways at her, suddenly frowning, "your teeth..."

"What about them?" she asked.

"Well, they're different...I've just noticed..."

"Of course they are - did you expect me to keep those fangs Malfoy gave me?"

"No, I mean, they're different to how they were before he put that hex on you...They're all...straight and - and normal-sized."

Hermione suddenly smiled very mischievously, and I was reminded of how different her teeth were. She'd showed me how normal her teeth had become after Madam Pomfrey had finished fixing them after Malfoy's hex. I was still trying to get used to how different her smile looked from before.

"Well...when I went up to Madam Pomfrey to get them shrunk, she held up a mirror and told me to stop her when they were back to how they normally were," she said. "And I just...let her carry on a bit." She smiled even more widely. "Mum and Dad won't be too pleased. I've been trying to persuade them to let me shrink them for ages, but they wanted me to carry on with my braces. You know, they're dentists, they just don't think teeth and magic should - look! Pigwidgeon's back!"

Ron's tiny owl was twittering madly on the top of the icicle-laden banisters, a scroll of parchment tied to his leg. People passing him were pointing and laughing, and a group of third-year girls paused and said, "Oh look at the weeny owl! Isn't he _cute_?"

"Stupid little feathery git!" Ron hissed, hurrying up the stairs and snatching up Pigwidgeon. "You bring letters to the addressee! You don't hang around showing off!"

Pigwidgeon hooted happily, his head protruding over Ron's fist. The third-year girls all looked very shocked.

"Clear off!" Ron snapped at them, waving the fist holding Pigwidgeon, who hooted more happily than ever as he soared through the air. "Here - one of you take it," Ron added in an undertone as the third-year girls scuttled away looking scandalized. We pulled Sirius's reply off Pigwidgeon's leg, Harry pocketed it, and we hurried back to Gryffindor Tower to read it.

Everyone in the common room was much too busy in letting off more holiday steam to observe what anyone else was up to. Ron, Harry, Hermione, and I sat apart from everyone else by a dark window that was gradually filling up with snow, and Harry read out:

_Dear Harry and Cheyenne,_

_Congratulations on getting past the Horntail. Whoever put your names in that goblet shouldn't be feeling too happy right now! I was going to suggest a Conjunctivitus Curse, as a dragon's eyes are its weakest point - _"That's what Krum did!" Hermione whispered - _but your way was better, I'm impressed._

_Don't either of you get complacent, though, Harry, Cheyenne. You've only done one task; whoever put you both in for the tournament's got plenty more opportunity if they're trying to hurt you. Keep your eyes open - particularly when the person we disucssed is around - and concentrate on keeping yourselves out of trouble._

_Keep in touch, I still want to hear about anything unusual._

_**Sirius**_

"He sounds exactly like Moody," Harry said quietly, tucking the letter away again inside his robes. " 'Constant vigilance!' You'd think Chey and I walk around with our eyes shut, banging off the walls..."

"They're both right, though, Harry," I said softly, "we _have_ still got two tasks to do..."

"Yeah, Harry...You and Chey really ought to have a look at that egg, you know, and start working out what it means..."

"Hermione, they've got ages!" Ron snapped. "Want a game of chess, Harry?"

"Yeah, okay," Harry said. Then, spotting the looks on my and Hermione's faces, he said, "Come on, how're we supposed to concentrate with all this noise going on? We won't even be able to hear the egg over this lot.

"Oh..." Hermione and I glanced uneasily at each other, then sighed, "We suppose now..." and we sat down to watch their chess match, which culminated in an exciting checkmate of Ron's, involving a couple of recklessly brave pawns and a very violent bishop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I slept contently on Christmas morning, that is, until something, or someone more like, jerked me out of my blissful sleep. Startled, and just a little agitated, wondering who would be waking me up so early when I was supposed to be on vacation, I opened my eyes, and my gaze was immediately met with very large, round, green eyes staring back at me in the darkness, so close we were almost nose to nose. With a scream, I scrambled back and fell off my bed with a loud thud, pain skating up my spine like an electric shock.

_"Dobby!"_ I growled as I got up again, using my bed as support, trying to calm my heart, "Don't _do_ that!"

"Dobby is sorry, miss!" Dobby squeaked anxiously, having leapt backward with his long fingers over his mouth. "Dobby is only wanting to wish Cheyenne Power 'Merry Christmas' and bring her a present, miss, like he did for Harry Potter, miss! Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power did say Dobby could come and see them sometimes, miss!"

"It's all right..." I said empathetically, my breathing still rather fast, while my heart beat returned to normal. "Just - just shake me awake or something in the future, all right, don't bend over me like that..."

I pulled back the curtains around my four-poster, pulling my glasses back on in the process. My scream had awoken Hermione, Lavender, Parvati, and Fay. All of them were peering through the gaps in their own hangings, heavy-eyes and tousle-haired.

"Getting attacked, Cheyenne...?" Parvati asked sleepily.

"No, it's just Dobby," I muttered, yawning. "Sorry...you all can go back to sleep."

"Eh, we're awake now anyway..." Parvati said, spotting the large pile of presents at the foot of her bed. Hermione, Fay, and Lavender had already seemed to decide the same thing, and that they might as well get down to some present-opening too. I turned back to Dobby, who was now standing nervously next to my bed, still looking worried that he'd upset me. There was a Christmas bauble tied to the loop on top of his tea cozy, and I recognized Ron's maroon sweater wrapped around his torso, the sleeves drooping past his hands. A pair of Uncle Vernon's ugly old socks were wrapped around his feet and in his hands was another pair, this one violet.

"Can Dobby give Cheyenne Power her present?" he squeakeed tentatively. I smiled and rubbed his head.

" 'Course you can," I said. "Hang on," Pulling open my bedside drawer, I pulled out a small package wrapped in silver wrapping paper and held it out to the elf, "Here. I got this for you when we were last in Hogsmeade." I said, having wanted to get something to congratulate Dobby on getting his job here at Hogwarts.

Dobby unwrapped the package and pulled out a third pair of socks, this one a dark crimson. Dobby looked utterly delighted.

"Socks are Dobby's favorite, favorite clothes, miss!" he said, hugging the socks tightly. "I has ten now, miss..." I smiled, giggling, "Look in them, Dobby, there's another surprise." I said. Dobby blinked in surprise and overturned the socks and something cluttered to the floor. He stooped to pick it up and stood, his eyes widening even more. From within the sock had tumbled a small silver charm with the Hogwarts crest designed into the front. I showed Dobby how to open it, and pointed out where he could put a picture, whatever picture he wanted.

"I thought you'd like to have a picture of a friend or loved one with you. It's a present to congratulate your accomplishment at getting a paying job here." I said softly, smiling. Dobby looked quite overwelmed.

"Miss is very kind!" he squeaked, his eyes brimming with tears again, bowing deeply to me. "Dobby is most thankful to you, miss. Just as you have freed Dobby, you have provided him with a great gift!"

I blushed lightly, scratching at the back of my neck, "I tried to find something I thought you'd like...I'm glad I got the right things..." I said softly, having not completely known what to give him. Dobby hugged me, then held out a small package to me. It turned out to be another pair of socks.

"Dobby is making them himself, miss!" the elf said happily. "he is buying the wool out of his wages, miss!"

The right sock was a deep royal red color with a pattern of books upon it; the left sock was forest green with a pattern of wands on it that shot out bright yellow stars.

"Oh, Dobby, these are wonderful. You're really talented, thank you," I said, liking the unique style Dobby had used. I pulled the socks on, my feet warming almost immediately.

"Dobby must go now, miss, we is already making Christmas dinner in the kitchens!" Dobby said, and he hurried out of the dormitory, waving good-bye to Hermione, and the others as he passed.

My other presents were just as wonderful as Dobby's - with the obvious exception of the Dursleys', which consisted of a single tissue, an all-time low - I supposed they too were remembering the Ton-Tongue Toffee. Hermione had given me a book on dragons, called _Everything to Know About Dragons_; Ron, my own pack of Exploding Snap cards; From Harry, I got a book on all magical creatures, much like the dragons book Hermione gave me, which gave me information on all kinds of magical creatures, like where they were found, orginated, their natures, etc.; Sirius, a white bracelet with both my mother and father's family crests and their intitals (it had once belonged to my mother, who'd wanted me to have it when I was old enough); and Hagrid, a vast box of sweets including all my favorites: Chocolate Frogs, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Pumpkin Pasties, and Licorice Wands. There was also, of course, Mrs. Weasley's usual package, including a new sweater (red, with a picture of a dragon on it - I supposed Charlie had told her all about the Horntail), and a large quantity of homemade mince pies.

Hermione and I met up with Harry and Ron in the common room, and we went down to breakfast together. We spent most of the morning in Gryffindor Tower, where everyone was enjoying their presents, then returned to the Great Hall for a magnificent lunch, which included at least a hundred turkeys and Christmas puddings, and large piles of Cribbage's Wizarding Crackers. Once, when he was able to get himself free, Fred snatched me away from Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and brought me under the mistletoe, where we had a wonderful first kiss.

I was still thinking about that kiss as we went out onto the grounds in the afternoon; the snow was untouched except for the deep channels made by the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students on their way up to the castle. Hermione chose to watch Harry, the Weasleys', and my snowball fight rather than join in, and at five o'clock, we said we were going back upstairs to get ready for the ball.

"What, you both need three hours?" Ron said, looking at us incredulously and paying for his lapse in concentration when a large snowball, thrown by George, hit him hard on the side of the head. "Who're you going with?" he yelled after Hermione and I, but we just waved and disappeared up the stone steps into the castle.

It didn't take Hermione and I long to cross the entrance hall and make our way upstairs to Gryffindor Tower to get ready for the ball. Once in our dormitory, we pulled our coats, scarves, and robes off and got ourselves ready for showers, which we were able to acquire in the girls' bathroom, a chamber at the bottom of our staircase, where the girls from each year could bathe and clean themselves ourselves up for special events, such as the Yule Ball.

By the time Hermione and I had made our way into the girls' bathroom, it was almost packed with the other Gyffindors girls, all getting ready for the Yule ball and chatting away excitedly about their dates or who they'd heard was taking who. Our other three roommates were already there, Faya doing her hair in front of one of the mirrors and talking to Ginny and another pretty red-haired third year girl, while Lavender and Parvati were chatting animatedly by the shower stalls. Hermione and I slipped past them, skirting along the stalls to find any that could be empty and we each claimed a few at the back of the room, where we drew the curtains and turned on the water. We returned to our dormitory a half hour later, wrapped in our bathrobes, our hair in towels, talking about our dates and giggling excitedly. Each of us pulling out everything we needed, we got started on getting ourselves ready, starting with hair and make-up. I was up first.

Hermione had me sit down on my bed and crawled in behind me, pulling the towel off my hair and beginning to run a brush through the knotless strands. She rubbed my hair with the towel again, wringing out any extra water that was left behind before she began to tease it, bringing out more of its natural curl. When she brushed it this time, she parted my hair to the right so it covered my ear, leaving that lock of hair free as she pulled the rest into a loose ponytail at the nape of my neck. Then, she applied a thin layer of foundation and light blush to my cheeks, and we finished off my make-up with some light green eye-shadow and lip gloss. She helped me put my earrings in, silver clear cuts that she'd gotten me for my thirteen birthday a few years back. I'd already had my ears pierced as a baby, but we'd had to reopen them so I could wear earrings. It'd been painful, but worth it.

Anyway, when Hermione had finished helping me get ready, I in turn helped her. Her hair had dried significantly and was regaining some of it's bushiness, so it was hard to brush and untangle, but when we'd finally done it, we started to try pulling it up, but it wasn't working. Hermione had a solution: using Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. We'd used almost the whole jar before we were able to pull her hair back into an elegant knot at the back of her head. Like me, she wore a thin layer of foundation and blush. We finished off her make-up with some royal blue eyeshadow and matching lip gloss. Then, we could pull our dress robes on. Her robes were made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material that matched her eyeshadow. My robes were made of a flowing, dark forest green material. With the dark green color of my robes and the light green eyeshadow, the green in my hazel eyes really popped. Hermione and I both wished we could do this everyday, but with her having to put so much hair potion in and the annoyance of having to put make-up on everyday, we decided it would be too much trouble and that it would be best left for another special occasion.

Slipping our shoes on and adjusting my new bracelet, Hermione and I checked ourselves in the mirror one last time, then left the dormitory and headed downstairs to the common room. Parvati, Lavender, and Faya had already come up to the dormitory, dressed, and left to meet their dates before the Yule Ball.

The common room looked strange, full of people wearing different colors instead of the usual mass of black. Fred was waiting at the bottom of the staircase, leaning against the door frame, talking with George as he waited for Angelina. Both were dressed in handsome black dress robes, their red hair brushed to opposite sides, Fred to the right, George to the left. They were both quite good-looking, and it was nice to see them so dressed up like this. Fred grinned when he saw me and pushed off from the wall.

"You look beautiful, Chey," he said, hugging me and kissing the top of my head. I giggled, blushing lightly, "You don't look too bad yourself, Gred," I said, grinning, using the funny name he'd used in my second year. He chuckled, stepping back, holding my hands. He cocked his head to the side, pausing for a moment, "Wait, something's missing..." he said and I blinked in confusion, looking down at my person.

"Really? What is it?" I asked, looking up at him.

Fred smiled sweetly. "Don't worry, it's not too bad. You just need a little something to make this perfect. It's a late Christmas present. Close your eyes." he instructed and I frowned some, wondering what he was up to. He help up his hands innocently, "I'm not going to do anything. I promise." he said, and I nodded slowly, closing my eyes obediently. Over the excited chatter around us, I could hear the rustle of robes and the snap of a container being opened, followed by the soft rustle of a chain before I felt something cool wrap around my neck and someone fasten it at the back. "All right, open your eyes." Fred whispered.

Opening my eyes, I looked down, finding a pretty gold locket hanging from around my neck. I blinked in surprise, lifting my hand and holding the locket in my palm, "Oh my goodness, Fred, it's beautiful. But where did you find this? How could you afford it?" I asked, looking up at him.

He smiled, "I asked Mum to get it for me in Diagon Alley and gave her some allowance I still had. I wanted to give you something special. And look, it opens, too." He lifted it and pushed a small button on the side, which opened the locket. Inside, a couple of pictures were already waiting and, like all wizaridng photos, they were moving. One picture was of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and myself. The second was of me and Fred. Harry and Ron had their arms around each other and were laughing in the background, while Hermione and I were in front, smiling and waving. Fred had his arm around me in the other picture and we were holding hands over my shoulder while I leaned back against his chest. Fred was nuzzling into the side of my head and making a peace sign with his other hand, and we were both smiling chessily at the camera. My heart swelled and I closed the locket, hugging Fred tightly.

"Thank you, Fred, it's wonderful." I whispered, kissing his cheek. He kissed my forehead, smiling and pulling back, "I'm glad you like it. Like I said, I wanted to make it special. Come on, we should head down." he took my hand. I nodded in agreement and we headed out of the common room and downstairs.

The entrance hall was packed with students too, all milling around waiting for eight o'clock, when the doors to the Great Hall would be thrown open. Those people who were meeting partners from different Houses were edging through the crowd trying to find one another. Fred led me through the crowd and introduced me to a couple of sixth years he knew from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and I said hello, shaking each of their hands. We all talked for a while, comparing lessons and techquies they would have used if they'd gotten into the Triwizard Tournament. After a while, we stood back to watch the others around us. Across the hall, we could see Harry and Ron with Pavarti and her twin sister from Ravenclaw, Padma. Ron was bending down, trying to hide behind Harry, and only seconds later, we realized why: Fleur Delacour was passing them, looking stunning in robes of silver-gray satin, and accompanied by the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, Roger Davies. Only when they disappeared did Ron stand straight again.

A group of Slytherins came up the steps from their dungeon common room. Malfoy was in front; he was wearing dress robes of black velvet with a high collar, which made him look like a vicar. Pansy Parkinson in very frilly robes of pale pink was clutching Malfoy's arm. Crabbe and Goyle were both wearing green; they resembled moss-colored boulders, and neither of them, I was pleased to see, had managed to find a partner. Malfoy was looking less than enthusiastic about having Pansy as a partner, but he was grinning all the same and once or twice I saw him glance toward me out of the corner of his eye. I ignored him though and looked around the entrance hall once more.

The oak front doors opened, and we turned to look as the Durmstrang students entered with Professor Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by Hermione in her beautiful blue dress. I pointed her out to Fred and he blinked in surprise. Over their heads we saw that an area of lawn right in front of the castle had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy lights - meaning hundreds of actual living fairies were sitting in the rosebushes that had been conjured there, and fluttering over the statues of what seemed to be Father Christmas and his reindeer.

Then Professor McGonagall's voice called, "Champions over here, please!"

Fred took my hand, we said good-bye to his friends and we walked forward, the chattering crowd parting to let us through. Professor McGonagall, who was wearing dress robes of red tartan and had arranged a rather ugly wreath of thistles around the brim of her hat, told us to wait on one side of the doors while everyone else went inside; we were to enter the Great Hall in procession when the rest of the students had sat down. Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies stationed themselves nearest the doors; Davies looked so stunned by his good fortune in having Fleur for a partner that he could hardly take his eyes off her. Cedric and Cho were close to Harry and Parvati; Fred and I were standing with Krum and Hermione. Hermione reached toward me and fixed a strand of hair back into my ponytail, smiling. Harry turning his head caught my attention and Hermione and I looked around at him as his jaw dropped and realization dawned on him.

He knew it was us.

We knew we didn't look like Hermione or Cheyenne at all. We'd both done up our hair; hers was no longer bushy but sleek and shiny, and it was twisted up into an elegant knot at the back fo her head. My hair was brushed back into my ponytail, my hair curled into light ringlets to dust the back of my neck. We were both holding ourselves differently, but without the usual load of books, it wasn't that hard. We both smiled nervously, and I knew the reduction in the size of her front teeth was more noticeable than ever; it wasn't that hard to spot and it only made her look all the more beautiful.

"Hi, Harry!" we said. "Hi, Parvati!"

Parvati was gazing at Hermione and I in unflattering disbelief. She wasn't the only one either; when the doors to the Great Hall opened, Krum's fan club from the library stalked past, throwing Hermione looks of deepest loathing and a few of the other boys who'd asked me moved past, staring unbelievably and shooting Fred glares. Pansy Parkinson gaped at us as she walked by with Malfoy, and even he didn't seem to be able to find an insult to throw, at either of us. Ron, however, walked right past Hermione and I without looking at either of us.

Once everyone else was settled in the Hall, Professor McGonagall told us champions and our partners to get in line in pairs and to follow her. We did so, and everyone in the Great Hall applauded as we entered and started walking up toward a large round table at the top of the Hall, where the judges were sitting.

The walls of the hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

I strode up the hall with Fred, concentrating on keeping a steady stride with him. I held his arm and his free hand held mine. We both smiled and nodded at people we knew, greeting them cheerfully.

"Looks like little Ronald is feeling jealous." Fred whispered, nodding toward him. I spotted him and Padma as we neared the top table. Ron was watching Hermione pass with narrowed eyes. Padma was looking sulkly. Despite all the eyes watching us, I felt a hot pair of irises boring into the back of my neck, but I tried to ignore them.

Dumbledore smiled happily as we champions approached the top table, but Karkaroff wore an expression remarkably like Ron's as he watched Krum and Hermione draw nearer. Ludo Bagman, tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of the students; and Madame Maxime, who had changed her usual uniform of black satin for a flowing gown of lavender silk, was applauding us politely. But Mr. Crouch, I suddenly realized, was not there. The fifth seat at the table was occupied by none other than Percy Weasley.

When we champions and our partners reached the table, Percy drew out one of the empty chairs beside him, staring pointedly at Harry. Harry, taking the hint, sat down next to Percy, who was wearing brand-new, navy-blue dress robes and an expression of such smugness that it looked like it should be fined. Fred pulled out the chair on Percy's other side and I sat down. He pushed it in and took the seat next to me.

"I've been promoted," Percy said before either Harry or I could ask, and from his tone, he might have been announcing his election as supreme ruler of the universe. "I'm now Mr. Crouch's personal assistant, and I'm here representing him."

"Why didn't he come?" Harry asked and I knew he wasn't looking forward to being lectured on cauldron bottoms all through dinner.

"I'm afraid to say Mr. Crouch isn't well, not well at all. Hasn't been right since the World Cup. Hardly surprising - overwork. He's not as young as he was - though still quite brilliant, of course, the mind remains as great as it ever was. But the World Cup was a fiasco for the whole Ministry, and then, Mr. Crouch suffered a huge personal shock with the misbehavior of that house-elf of his, Blinky, or whatever she was called. Naturally, he dismissed her immediately afterward, but - well, as I say, he's getting on, he needs looking after, and I think he's found a definite drop in his home comforts since she left. And then we had the tournament to arrange, and the aftermath of the Cup to deal with - that revolting Skeeter woman buzzing around - no, poor man, he's having a well-earned, quiet Christmas. I'm just glad he knew he had someone he could rely upon to take his place."

Harry and I glanced at each other, wanting very much to ask whether Mr. Crouch had stopped calling Percy "Weatherby" yet, but resisted the temptation.

There was no food as yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each of us. I picked mine up uncertainly and looked around - there were no waiters. Dumbledore, however, looked carefully down at his own menu, then said very clearly to his plate, "Pork chops!"

And pork chops appeared. Getting the idea, the rest of us placed our orders with our plates too. Harry and I glanced up at Hermione to see how she felt about this new and more complicated method of dining - surely it meant plenty of extra work for the house-elves? - but for once, Hermione didn't seem to be thinking about S.P.E.W. She was deep in conversation with Viktor Krum and hardly seemed to notice what she was eating.

It now occurred to me that neither Harry nor I had ever really heard Krum talk before, but he was certainly talking now, and very enthusiastically at that.

"Vell, ve have a castle also, not as big as this, nor as comfortable, I am thinking," he was telling Hermione. "Ve have just four floors, and the fires are lit only for magical purposes. But ve have grounds larger even than these - though in vinter, ve have very little daylight, so ve are not enjoying them. But in summer ve are flying every day, over the lakes and the mountains -"

"Now, now, Viktor!" Karkaroff said with a laugh that didn't reach his cold eyes, "don't go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend will know exactly where to find us!"

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Igor, all this secrecy...one would almost think you didn't want visitors."

"Well, Dumbledore," Karkaroff said, displaying his yellowing teeth to their fullest extent. Fred and I giggled. "we are all protective of our private domains, are we not? Do we not jealously guard the halls of learning that have been entrusted to us? Are we not right to be proud that we alone know our school's secret, and right to protect them?"

"Oh I would never dream of assuming I know all Hogwarts' secrets, Igor," Dumbledore said amicably. "Only this morning, for instance, I took a wrong turning on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I have never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of chamber pots. When I went back to investigate more closely, I discovered that the room had vanished. But I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five-thirty in the morning. Or it may only appear at the quarter moon - or when the seeker has an exceptionally full bladder."

I snorted into my pumpkin juice and had to press my napkin to my lips to keep a dribble of it from staining my robes. Fred and Harry each laughed too and Percy frowned, but Harry and I could have sworn Dumbledore had given us each a very small wink.

Meanwhile Fleur Delacour was criticizing the Hogwarts decorations to Roger Davies.

"Zis is nothing," she said dismissively, looking around at the sparkling walls of the Great Hall. "At ze Palace of Beauxbatons, we 'ave ice scuptures all around ze dining chamber at Chreestmas. Zey do not melt, of course...zey are like 'uge statues of diamond, glittering around ze place. And ze food is seemply superb. And we 'ave choirs of wood nymphs, 'oo serenade us as we eat. We 'ave none of zis ugly armor in ze 'alls, and eef a poltergeist ever entaired into Beauxbatons, 'e would be expelled like _zat_." She slapped her hand onto the table impatiently.

Roger Davies was watching her talk with a very dazed look on his face, and he kept missing his mouth with his fork. I had the impression that Davies was too busy staring at Fleur to take in a word she was saying.

"Absolutely right," he said quickly, slapping his own hand down on the table in imitation of Fleur. "Like _that_. Yeah."

I looked around the Hall. Hagrid was sitting at one of the other staff tables; he was back in his horrible hairy brown suit and gazing up at the top table. I saw him give a small wave, and looking around, saw Madame Maxime return it, her opals glittering in the candlelight.

Hermione was now teaching Krum to say her name properly, Fred conducting; Krum kept calling her "Hermy-own."

"Her-my-oh-nee," Fred said slowly and clearly.

"Herm-own-ninny."

"Close enough," Hermione said, cathing my and Harry's eyes and grinning.

When all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore stood up and asked the students to do the same. Then, with a wave of his wand, all the tables zoomed back along the walls leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it.

The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause; they were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. They picked up their instruments. The lanterns on all the other tables had gone out, and we champions and our partners started standing up.

Fred took my hand as the Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune; we walked onto the brightly lit dance floor, smiling at each other. We found a spot a couple feet away from Harry and Parvati, Fred put his hand on my hip, my hand went onto his shoulder and we raised our conjoined hands just slightly, giving each other a gentle squeeze.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but actually quite fun, I thought, revolving quickly on the spot. Fred and I kept a steady gaze, still smiling, and soon, we noticed that many of the watching people too had come onto the dance floor, so that we were no longer the center of attention. Neville and Ginny were dancing nearby - we could see Ginny wincing frequently as Neville trod on her feet - Fred pointed out Dumbledore waltzing with Madame Maxime. He was so dwarfed by her that the top of his pointed hat barely tickled her chin; however, she moved very gracefully for a woman so large. Mad-Eye Moody was doing an extremely ungainly two-step with Professor Sinistra, who was nervously avoiding his wooden leg. Fred and I laughed.

"Nice socks, Power," Moody growled as he passed, his magical eye staring through my robes.

"Oh, thank you! Dobby the house-elf knitted them for me," I said, grinning. Fred chuckled.

"He's quite the wizard, he is." Fred said respectful, grinning.

We heard the final, quavering note from the bagpipe. The Weird Sisters stopped playing, applause filling the hall once more and Fred cheered.

The Weird Sisters struck up a new song, which was much faster. Fred grabbed me at the waist and we started to dance exuberantly. I laughed excitedly, dancing enthsiastically with him. People kept backing away for fear of injury and I barely noticed as Harry and Parvati hurried off the dance floor.

Fred and I danced excitedly through this song, laughing and enjoying ourselves to the fullest extent. Hermione and Krum danced past us and she and I grinned at each other. Once or twice I felt a pair of eyes boring into my back as we danced, but I tried to ignore it, not wanting to ruin my fun by worrying about someone watching me. However, I did take the chance to glance around as Fred twirled me, my gaze finding Harry sitting at a table off to the side with Ron, Padma, and Parvati. The sisters were sitting with their arms and legs crossed, their feet jingling in time to the music. I just caught a glimpse of a boy from Beauxbatons asking Parvati to dance before Fred twirled me away and I let loose a loud giggle again. Soon, that song ended and another one began.

I was beginning to feel flushed and at the end of this song, Fred led me off the dance floor and toward the table where the boys were sitting. I was feeling warm and I was slightly out of breath. Hermione was already sitting next to Ron and I took Parvati's empty seat. Fred disappeared off to get us something to drink.

"Having fun, are you?" Harry said tautly as I sat down. I nodded.

"Yeah. Oh, I never imagined it would be this much fun!" I said, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of my face and fanning myself. "Fred's such a great dancer and he makes it so much fun."

"Oh, I'm sure he is. There's probably a _lot_ we don't know about Fred Weasley." Harry gritted out between clenched teeth and I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. He was leaning sulkily back in his seat, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"What's got your robes all bunched up, Harry?" I asked, turning slightly to face him and putting a hand to his forehead to test his temperature. He swatted my hand away.

"There's nothing wrong with me! How can _you_ come to the ball with Fred, anyway? We're supposed to be partners in this tournament. _AND_, he tried to enter the tournament himself, which makes him just as much an enemy as Cedric or Krum. You didn't even have the guts to tell me you were coming with him. What other secrets are you keeping from me, huh?"

I was taken aback at the abrupt tone in his voice before anger knotted in my stomach.

"Excuse me?! How can I come to the ball with him? How can I? Oh, let me think, um, HE'S MY BOYFRIEND! Hello, earth to Harry! Fred and I have been dating for _months_ now! And if you even paid a speck of attention, you would have _known_ he was my date to this ball in the first place. It was never a secret. And besides, Professor McGonagall said herself that even if we're partners for the tournament, we could come with whoever we wanted. Harry, what is going on with you tonight? You're just flying off the handle for no apparent reason at all, wha -" Something suddenly occured to me and I frowned, "Wait a minute..." I crossed my arms, "This isn't about me and Fred...it's about Cedric and Cho, isn't it?"

Harry's face reddened, "What're you talking about, Chey? This has nothing to do with Cho or Cedric..."

"Really? Are you sure about that?" He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off before he could utter a word, "No, don't say anything. It's my turn to talk. Harry, I'm not blind, I'm not daft, nor do I have a bad memory, and I know for a _fact_ that you learning about Cho coming to the ball tonight with Cedric is killing you because you've liked her for a long time. I would feel the same way if it Fred and another girl, and you have every right to be feeling what you're feeling, but I don't appreciate you taking out your anger on me just because of something like this!"

"I am _not_ taking my feelings out on you!" Harry yelled, shooting to his feet, clenching his hands. "This has nothing to do with Cho, I just feel betrayed that you wouldn't come out and tell me you were going with Fred! How can I trust you if you don't tell me things like this? We used to tell each other everything."

"Yeah, we did, but Harry, there are some things I cannot discuss with you or tell you because they are girly things that I need to talk to another girl about, not my best _guy_ friend. You wouldn't be able to understan-" I stopped, seeing hurt cross his face. I stood, "No, Harry, I didn't mean it lik -"

"Forget it, I can see where I stand." He ground out, sitting back in his chair and turning his head away from me. I stood, stunned for a moment before coming back to my senses, feeling my heart get heavier and tears sting the back of my eyes.

I was feeling like Harry wasn't listening, wasn't even putting an effort into listening to what I had to say on this matter, something I was not used to. Harry and I _always_ listened to each other, and, except for the rare miscommunication, we were almost always on the same page. But now...it just felt like not only were we on different pages, but two completely different plants. It was like we didn't even know each other.

"Vare is Herm-own-ninny?" a voice said suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts.

Krum had just arrived at our table clutching two butterbeers.

"No idea," Ron said mulishly, looking up at him. "Lost her, have you?"

Krum was looking surly again.

"Vell, if you see her, tell her I haff drinks," he said, and he slouched off.

"Made friends with Viktor Krum, have you, Ron?"

Percy had bustled over, rubbing his hands together and looking extremely pompous. "Excellent! That's the whole point, you know - international magical cooperation!"

To our displeasure, Percy now took Padma's vacated seat. The top table was now empty; Professor Dumbledore was dancing with Professor Sprout, Ludo Bagman with Professor McGonagall, Madame Maxime and Hagrid were cutting a wide path around the dance floor as they waltzed through the students, and Karkaroff was nowhere to be seen. When the next song ended, everybody applauded once more, and I saw Ludo Bagman kiss Professor McGonagall's hand and make his way back through the crowds, at which point Fred and George accosted him.

"What do they think they're doing, annoying senior Ministry members?" Percy hissed, watching Fred and George suspiciously. "_No_ respect..."

Ludo Bagman shook off Fred and George fairly quickly, however, and, spotting Harry and I, waved and came over to our table.

"I hope my brothers weren't bothering you, Mr. Bagman?" Percy said at once.

"What? Oh not at all, not at all!" Bagman said. "No, they were just telling me a bit more about those fake wands of theirs. Wondering if I could advise them on the marketing. I've promised to put them in touch with a couple of contacts of mine at Zonko's Joke Shop..."

Percy didn't look happy about this at all, and I was prepared to bet he would be rushing to tell Mrs. Weasley about this the moment he got home. Apparently Fred and George's plans had grown even more ambitious lately, if they were hoping to sell to the public. Bagman opened his mouth to ask Harry and I something, but Percy diverted him.

"How do you feel the tournament's going, Mr. Bagman? _Our_ department's quite satisfied - the hitch with the Goblet of Fire" - he glanced at Harry and I - "was a little unfortunate, of course, but it seems to have gone very smoothly since, don't you think?"

"Oh yes," Bagman said cheerfully, "it's all been enormous fun. How's old Barty doing? Shame he couldn't come."

"Oh I'm sure Mr. Crouch will be up and about in no time," Percy said importantly, "but in the meantime, I'm more than willing to take up the slack. Of course, it's not all attending balls" - he laughed airily - "oh no, I've had to deal with all sorts of things that have cropped up in his absence - you heard Ali Bashir was caught smuggling a consignment of flying carpets into the country? And then we've been trying to persuade the Transylvanians to sign the International Ban on Dueling. I've got a meeting with their Head of Magical Cooperation in the new year -"

"Uh..." My brain had just started to short curcuit and I needed to get out of here. Standing without a word, I dashed around the dance floor and out into the entrance hall, wanting to get away from Harry as quickly as possible. I just couldn't be around him right now. I didn't want to be around _anyone_ right now. I needed to sort things out in my mind.

The front doors stood open, and the fluttering fairy lights in the rose garden winked and twinkled as I went down the front steps, where I found myself surrounded by bushes; winding, ornamental paths; and large stone statues. I could hear splashing water, which sounded like a fountain. Here and there, people were sitting on carved benches. I set off along one of the winding paths through the rosebushes, taking in the beautiful lighting and scenery as I wrapped my robes tighter around myself. The cold felt nice on my warm face and getting out of the castle and away from the others was what I'd needed. However, I had gone only a short way when I heard an unpleasantly familiar voice.

"...don't see what there is to fuss about, Igor."

"Severus, you cannot pretend this isn't happening!" Karkaroff's voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. "It's been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can't deny it -"

"Then flee," Snape's voice said curtly. "Flee - I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts."

Snape and Karkaroff came around the corner. Snape had his wand out and was blasting rosebushes apart, his expression most ill-natured. Squeals issued from many of the bushes, and dark shapes emerged from them.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw, Fawcett!" Snape snarled as a girl ran past him. "And ten points from Hufflepuff too, Stebbins!" as a boy went rushing after her. "And what are you doing?!" he added, catching sight of me on the path ahead. Karkaroff, I noticed, looked slightly discomposed to see me standing there. His hand went nervously to his goatee, and he began winding it around his finger.

_"We're_ walking," Ron voice said shortly from behind me as I felt a hand grab my waist and pull me back. "Not aginst the law, is it?"

It was Harry and Ron...they must have followed me out here. Harry was holding my waist and I was too stunned to pull away.

"Keep walking, then!" Snape snarled, and he brushed past us, his long black cloak billowing out behind him. Karkaroff hurried away after Snape. I followed Harry and Ron down the path.

"What's got Karkaroff all worried?" Ron muttered.

"And since when have he and Snape been on first-name terms?" Harry said slowly.

We had reached a large stone reindeer now, over which we could see the sparkling jets of a tall fountain. I suddenly noticed Harry holding my waist and I pushed away from him.

"Oi! I thought you were mad at me. Don't go holding my waist like I'm _your_ girlfriend!" I growled, glaring at him. He glared back.

"That's a right way to show your gratitude. We just helped you out of a tight spot with Snape. Imagine what he'd do if we hadn't come along." Harry shot back. I hoped my mouth to respond when we suddenly heard Hagrid's voice from the other side of the fountain.

"Momen' I saw yeh, I knew," he was saying, in an oddly husky voice.

Harry, Ron, and I froze. This didn't sound like the sort of scene we ought to walk in on, somehow...Harry and I looked around, back up the path, and saw Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies standing half-concealed in a rosebush nearby. He tapped Ron on the shoulder and jerked his head toward them, meaning that we could easily sneak off that way without being noticed (Fleur and Davies looked very busy to Harry and I), but Ron, eyes widening in horror at the sight of Fleur, shook his head vigorously, and pulled Harry and I deeper into the shadows behind the reindeer.

"What did you know, 'Agrid?" Madame Maxime said, a purr in her low voice.

I definitely didn't want to hear this, and I knew Harry didn't either; we both knew Hagrid would hate to be overheard in a situation like this (we both certainly would have) - if it had been possible we would have put our fingers in our ears and hummed loudly, but that wasn't really an option. Instead I tried to interest myself in a beetle crawling along the stone reindeer's back, but the beetle just wasn't interesting enough to block out Hagrid's next words. Nor was it enough to block out Harry's piercing stare.

"I jus' knew...knew you were like me...Was it yer mother or yer father?"

"I - I don't know what you mean, 'Agrid..."

"It was my mother," Hagrid said quietly. "She was one o' the las' ones in Britain. 'Course, I can' remember her too well...she left, see. When I was abou' three. She wasn' really the maternal sort. Well...it's not in their natures, is it? Dunno what happened to her...might be dead fer all I know..."

Madame Maxime didn't say anything. And, in spite of myself, I took my eyes off the beetle and looked over the top of the reindeer's antlers, listening...We had never heard Hagrid talk about his childhood before.

"Me dad was broken-hearted when she wen'. Tiny little bloke, my dad was. By the time I was six I could lift him up an' put him on top o' the dresser if he annoyed me. Used ter make him laugh..." Hagrid's deep voice broke. Madame Maxime was listening, motionless, apparently staring at the silvery fountain. "Dad raised me...but he died, o' course, jus' after I started school. Sorta had ter make me own way after that. Dumbledore was a real help, mind. Very kind ter me, he was..."

Hagrid pulled out a large spotted silk handkerchief and blew his nose heavily.

"So...anyway...enough abou' me. What about you? Which side you got it on?"

But Madame Maxime had suddenly got to her feet.

"It is chilly," she said - but whatever the weather was doing, it was nowhere near as cold as her voice. "I think I will go in now."

"Eh?" Hagrid said blankly. "No, don' go! I've - I've never met another one before!"

"Anuzzer _what_, precisely?" Madame Maxime asked, her tone icy.

I could have told Hagrid it was best not to answer; I could hear Harry grinding his teeth next to me, hoping, like I was that he wouldn't - but it was no good.

"Another half-giant, o' course!" Hagrid said.

" 'Ow dare you!" Madame Maxime shrieked. Her voice exploded through the peaceful night air like a foghorn; behind us, Harry and I heard Fleur and Roger fall out of their rosebush. "I 'ave nevair been more insulted in my life! 'Alf giant? _Moi?_ I 'ave - I 'ave big bones!"

She stormed away; great multicolored swarms of fairies rose into the air as she passed, angrily pushing aside bushes. Hagrid was still sitting on the bench, staring after her. It was much too dark to make out his expression. Then, after about a minute, he stood up and strode away, not back to the castle, but off out into the dark grounds in the direction of his cabin.

"C'mon," Harry said, very quietly to Ron as he took my shoulder and steered me away. "Let's go..."

But Ron didn't move.

"What's up?" I asked, looking around at him.

Ron looked around at Harry and I, his expression very serious indeed.

"Did either of you know?" he whispered. "About Hagrid being half-giant?"

"No/Of course," Harry and I said together, then glanced at each other. "So what?"

I knew immediately, from the look Ron was giving Harry, that he was once again revealing his ignorance of the wizarding world. Brought up by the Dursleys, there were many things that wizards took for granted that were revelations to Harry, and myself, at times, but these surprises had become fewer with each successive year. I usually studied up on subjects such as magical creatures in my spare time and had guessed that Hagrid was half-giant. How couldn't he be? He was three times the size of a normal man, yet he was not big enough to be a giant either. I knew most wizards would not have said "So what?" upon finding out that one of their friends had a giantess for a mother.

"I'll explain inside," Ron said quietly, "c'mon..."

Fleur and Roger Davies had disappeared, probably into a more private clump of bushes. Harry, Ron, and I headed inside again, Harry grumbling about this being another secret I had kept from him and I stormed away as soon as we reached the Great Hall. Fred intercepted me and immediately knew I was in a foul mood as soon as he saw my expression. He took me to a table away from the dance floor to talk and I told him everything that had happened since he'd left me to talk with George. I could see Ron and Harry sitting down at a corner to talk about Hagrid's giant heritage, but I ignored them, focusing instead on talking with Fred. I was on the verge of tears by the time I'd finished and he smoothed the hair out of my face.

"Oh Fred, I just don't know what to do! I hate having things like this with Harry, but he's acting so much like a little kid that it just makes me angry and I don't know how to patch things up with him. He thinks I kept us coming together a secret and he's so stubborn he won't listen when I try to explain. He's never not listened to me. I feel like I'm just not important to him anymore and that we doesn't care what I have to say." I broke off into a sob, covering my mouth with my hands, my vision blurring as tears filled them.

"Oh, Chey, shh, it's all right," Fred said soothingly, wrapping his arms tightly around me in a hug. I buried my face in his chest, feeling him rubbing my back and head, whispering soothingly. Tears rolled down my cheeks, burning the skin behind them, remembering Harry doing this for me countless times before, which only made me sob harder. Fred soothed me silently until I finally calmed, then he pulled back and wiped a stray tear from my eye, smiling gently. "Everything's going to be all right, Chey. The four years I've known you and Harry, I can tell that you two have always been close and always will be. Nothing can change that and I know something small like this won't. Every healthy relationship has it's ups and downs, and, of course, it has it's fights, but everything works out in the end. Look at me and George, eh? He and I fight sometimes, but we always make up in the end." he said.

I sniffled, looking up at him, starting to feel reassured, then something nearly diminished that, "But...Harry and I have never fought before...what if we can't make up?" I whispered, clenching my hands in his robes. He shook his head.

"You will, I _know_ you will. This is just a bump in the road. Things have been stressful with the tournament and this ball, and you and Harry both just need some time apart to clear your heads. And I know when you make up with him your bond will only be stronger. Everything will work out in the end." I looked into his eyes and reassurance spread through me again, knowing he was right. Harry couldn't be angry forever and we'd be able to make up, _and _our bond would be stronger for it. I smiled at him and hugged him again in thanks. Fred chuckled and hugged me back, then pulled back.

"There's the smile. You always looked so beautiful when you smiled." heat rose in my cheek at that and a giggle escaped my throat. He grinned widely. "Now come on, enough moping. How about a nice warm butterbeer and another dance? I wanna spend some time with my girlfriend." he said, brushing my cheek with the back of his hand. I leaned into his warm touch, still smiling and nodded in agreement. Getting to our feet, we headed across the hall to get something to drink, holding hands and talking little. We didn't need to. Just being together was enough.

Fred and I spent the rest of the ball dancing and having a good time like we'd meant to. We would take breaks often when we felt warm and leave the dance floor to get something to drink. We spent time with Hermione and Krum, and even George and Angelina when they weren't dancing enthusiastically on the dance floor. The end of the ball came too soon for our liking.

When the Weird Sisters finished playing at midnight, we all gave them a last, loud round of applause and started to wend our way into the entrance hall. Many people were expressing the wish that the ball could have gone on longer, but I was kinda glad it was over. We'd had our fun, and now it was time for bed. I was tired and just wanted to go to bed, and I knew Fred was feeling the same. We were both looking forward to getting upstairs and curling up under our blankets for a good nights' sleep. The evening had been fun, but it'd also been emotionally and physically draining.

Out in the entrance hall, Fred and I paused to wait for Hermione by the marble staircase while she said good night to Krum before he went back to the Durmstrang ship. We noticed Harry and Ron coming out of the Great Hall just a second before Hermione shot Ron a very cold look and swept past us up the staircase without speaking. Fred and I followed her, Harry and Ron following behind us. We were halfway up the staircase when I heard someone calling me and Harry.

"Hey - Harry, Cheyenne!"

It was Cedric Diggory. I could see Cho waiting for him in the entrance hall below. I told Fred I'd meet him upstairs and kissed his cheek. He smiled and kissed my cheek back before leaving me with the others.

"Yeah?" Harry said coldly as Cedric ran up the stairs toward us. I jabbed him in the ribs, giving him a look to mean he should be polite. Cedric, meanwhile, looked as though he didn't want to say whatever it was in front of Ron, who shrugged, looking bad-tempered, and continued to climb the stairs.

"Listen..." Cedric lowered his voice as Ron disappeared. "I owe you both one for telling me about the dragons. You know that golden egg? Does yours wail when you open it?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Well...take a bath together, okay?"

"What?!" Harry said as my face burned in embarrassment.

"No, that's not what I meant. I mean take a bath together, and - er - take the egg with you, and - er - just mull things over in the hot water. It'll help you both think...Trust me."

Harry and I stared at him.

"Tell you what," Cedric said, "use the prefects' bathroom. Fourth door to the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Password's 'pine fresh.' Gotta go...want to say good night -"

He grinned at Harry and I again, and hurried back down the stairs to Cho.

Harry and I walked back to Gryffindor Tower together, whispering to each other about what Cedric had just said, our earlier argument forgotten. That had been extremely strange advice. Why would a bath help us to work out what the wailing egg meant? Was Cedric pulling our legs? Was he trying to make Harry and I look like fools, so Cho would like him even more by comparison to Harry?

The Fat Lady and her friend Vi were snoozing in the picture over the portrait hole. Harry had to yell "Fairy lights!" before he woke them, and when he did, they were extremely irritated. We climbed into the common room and found Ron and Hermione having a blazing row. Standing ten feet apart, they were bellowing at each other, each scarlet in the face.

"Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?" Hermione yelled; her hair was coming down out of its elegent bun now, and her face was screwed up in anger.

"Oh yeah?" Ron yelled back. "What's that?"

"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"

Ron mouthed soundlessly like a goldfish out of water as Hermione turned on her heel and stormed up the girls' staircase to bed. Ron turned to look at Harry and I.

"Well," he sputtered, looking thunderstruck, "well - that just proves - completely missed the point -"

"You could take a leaf from Hermione's book." I ground out, hurrying toward the girls' staircase. I paused at the bottom, glancing at both boys. Harry was staring after me, "You both could." I said before I disappeared as well, hurrying up after Hermione to calm her down. I knew Harry had gotten Hermione's point much better than Ron, but only slightly. He still had a lot to learn himself.


	24. Rita Skeeter's Scoop

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**Rita Skeeter's Scoop**

Everyone got up late on Boxing Day. The Gryffindor common room was much quieter than it had been lately, many yawns punctuating the lazy conversations. Hermione's hair was bushy again; she confessed to Harry that she and I had used liberal amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion on it for the ball, "but it's way too much bother to do every day," she said matter-of-factly, scratching a purring Crookshanks behind the ears.

Ron and Hermione seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement not to discuss their argument. They were being quite friendly to each other, though oddly formal. Harry and I, meanwhile, we still kind of distant, but we silently agreed to put the issue aside for now and to focus on the tasks ahead. We still hadn't completely patched things up, and it was hard to spend time with Fred without Harry glaring at us and acting sulky again.

Anyway, Harry, Ron, and I wasted no time in telling Hermione about the conversation we had overheard between Madame Maxime and Hagrid, but Hermione didn't seem to find the news that Hagrid was a half-giant nearly as shocking as Ron. She took it as easily as I did.

"Well, I thought he must be," she said, shrugging. "Chey and I knew he couldn't be pure giant because they're about twenty feet tall. But honestly, all this hysteria about giants. They can't _all_ be horrible...It's the same sort of prejudice that people have toward werewolves...It's just bigotry, isn't it?"

Ron looked as though he would have liked to reply scathingly, but perhaps he didn't want another row, because he contented himself with shaking his head disbelievingly while Hermione wasn't looking.

It was time now to think of the homework we had neglected during the first week of the holidays. Everybody seemed to be feeling rather flat now that Christmas was over - everybody except Harry and I, that is, both of us starting (once again) to feel slightly nervous.

The trouble was that February the twenty-fourth looked a lot closer from this side of Christmas, and we still hadn't done anything about working out the clue inside the golden egg. We therefore started taking the egg out of his trunk every time we went up to the dormitory, opening it, and listening intently, hoping that this time it would make some sense. We strained to think what the sound reminded us of, apart from thirty musical saws, but we had never heard anything else like it. We closed the egg, shook it vigorously, and opened it again to see if the sound had changed, but it hadn't. We tried asking the egg questions, shouting over all the wailing, but nothing happened. He even threw the egg across the room - though we hadn't really expected that to help.

Neither of us had forgotten the hint that Cedric had given us, but I knew his less-than-friendly feelings toward Cedric just now meant that he was keen not to take his help if he could avoid it. In any case, it seemed to us that if Cedric had really wanted to give either Harry or I a hand, he would have been a lot more explicit. We, Harry and Cheyenne, had told Cedric exactly what was coming in the first task - and Cedric's idea of a fair exchange had been to tell Harry and I to take a bath. Well, we didn't need that sort of rubbishy help - not from someone who kept walking down corridors hand in hand with Cho, anyway. And so the first day of the new term arrived, and Harry and I set off to lessons, weighed down with books, parchment, and quills as usual, but also with the lurking worry of the egg heavy in our stomachs, as though we were carrying that around with us too.

Snow was still thick upon the grounds, and the greenhouse windows were covered in condensation so thick that we couldn't see out of them in Herbology. Nobody was looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures much in this weather, though as Ron said, the skrewts would probably warm us up nicely, either by chasing us or blasting off so forcefully that Hagrid's cabin would catch fire.

When we arrived at Hagrid's cabin, however, we found an elderly witch with closely cropped gray hair and a very prominent chin standing before his front door.

"Hurry up, now, the bell rang five minutes ago," she barked at us as we struggled toward her through the snow.

"Who're you?" Ron said, staring at her. "Where's Hagrid?"

"My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank," she said briskly. "I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher."

"Where's Hagrid?" Harry repeated loudly.

"He is indisposed," Professor Grubbly-Plank said shortly.

Soft and unpleasant laughter reached my ears. I turned; Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins were joining the class. All of them looked gleeful, and none of them looked surprised to see Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"This way, please," Professor Grubbly-Plank said, and she strode off around the paddock where the Beauxbatons horses were shivering. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I followed her, looking back over our shoulders at Hagrid's cabin. All the curtains were closed. Was Hagrid in there, alone and ill?

"What's wrong with Hagrid?" I asked, hurrying to catch up with Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"Never you mind," she said as though she thought I was being nosy.

"We do mind, though," Harry said hotly, coming up behind me. "What's up with him?"

Professor Grubbly-Plank acted as though she couldn't hear him. She led us past the paddock where the huge Beauxbatons horses were standing, huddled against the cold, and toward a tree on the edge of the forest, where a large and beautiful unicorn was tethered.

Many of the girls "ooooohed!" at the sight of the unicorn.

"Oh it's so beautiful!" Lavender Brown whispered. "How did she get it? They're supposed to be really hard to catch!"

The unicorn was so brightly white it made the snow all around look gray. It was pawing the ground nervously with its golden hooves and throwing back its horned head.

"Boys keep back!" Professor Grubbly-Plank barked, throwing out an arm and catching Harry hard in the chest. "They prefer the woman's touch, unicorns. Girls to the front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it..."

I was ushered after the other girls and we all walked slowly forward toward the unicorn, leaving the boys standing near the paddock fence, watching. The unicorn tossed it's head again, pawing more nervously at the ground as we all came closer. We all continued to slowly approach, reaching out to pet it as Professor Grubbly-Plank told us about unicorns in the background.

"Are you paying attention over there?" Professor Grubbly-Plank said suddenly after about fifteen minutes. All us girls were clustered around the unicorn now, stroking it. I glanced quickly over at the boys, seeing Harry holding a piece of paper, which looked like an article cut out of the _Daily Prophet_. I pointed it out to Hermione. She said we'd find out about it after class. Professor Grubbly-Plank was now enumerating the unicorns many magical properties in a loud voice, so that the boys could hear too.

"I hope she stays, that woman!" Parvati Patil said when the lesson had ended and we were all heading back to the castle for lunch. "That's more what I thought Care of Magical Creatures would be like...proper creatures like unicorns, not monsters..."

"The creatures Hagrid taught us about are still magical creatures!" I shot back at her angrily. "Just because they're not pretty does not mean they're not like other creatures. Unicorns can just be as dangerous if provoked."

"Yeah, and what about Hagrid?" Harry interjected as we went up the steps.

"What about him?" Parvati said in a hard voice. "He can still be gamekeeper, can't he?"

Parvati had been very cool toward Harry since the ball. He'd supposed that he ought to have paid her a bit more attention, but she seemed to have had a good time all the same. She was certainly telling anybody who would listen that she had made arrangements to meet the boy from Beauxbatons in Hogsmeade on the next weekend trip.

"That was a really good lesson," Hermione said as we entered the Great Hall. "I didn't know half the things Professor Grubbly-Plank told us about uni -"

"Look at this!" Harry snarled, shoving the _Daily Prophet_ article under our noses. We took it and began to read.

**Dumbledore's Giant Mistake**

Albus Dumbledore, eccentric headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_. In September of this year, he hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures.

Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates.

An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid had been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being "very frightening."

"I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend, Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. "We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything."

Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. In conversation with a _Daily Prophet_ reporter last month, he admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed "Blast-Ended Skrewts," highly dangerous crosses between manticores and fire-crabs. The creation of new breeds of magical creatures is, of course, an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions.

"I was just having some fun," he says, before hastily changing the subject.

As if this were not enough, the _Daily Prophet_ has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not - as he has always pretended - a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown.

Bloody-thirtsy and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror.

While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa's son appears to have inherited her brutal nature.

In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the duo who brought around You-Know-Who's fall from power - thereby driving Hagrid's own mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who's supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power are unaware of the unpleasant truth about their large friend - but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, along with their fellow students, are warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants.

My brain was numb with disbelief and my eyes felt like they were about to pop out of my head with how big they were.

"How did that horrible Skeeter woman find out? You don't think Hagrid _told_ her?" Hermione said disbelivably.

"No," Harry said, leading the way over to the Gryffindor table and throwing himself into a chair, furious. "He never even told us, did he? I reckon she was so mad he wouldn't give her loads of horrible stuff about me or Chey, she went ferreting around to get him back.

"Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxime at the ball," Hermione said quietly.

"No, we'd have seen her in the garden." I said slowly as I lowered myself into a seat next to Harry. "Anyway, she's not supposed to come into school anymore, Hagrid said Dumbledore banned her..."

"Maybe she's got an Invisibility Cloak," Harry said, ladling chicken casserole onto his plate and splashing it everywhere in his anger. "Sort of thing she'd do, isn't it, hide in bushes listening to people."

"Like you, Ron, and Chey did, you mean," Hermione said.

"We weren't trying to hear him!" Ron said indignantly. "We didn't have any choice! The stupid prat, talking about his giantess mother where anyone could have heard him!"

"We've got to go and see him," I said. "This evening, after Divination. Tell him we want him back..."

"You _do_ want him back?" Harry shot at Hermione.

"I - well, I'm not going to pretend it didn't make a nice change, having a proper Care of Magical Creatures lesson for once - but I do want Hagrid back, of course I do!" Hermione added hastily, quailing under Harry's furious stare.

So that evening after dinner, the four of us left the castle once more and went down through the frozen grounds to Hagrid's cabin. We knocked, and Fang's booming barks answered.

"Hagrid, it's us!" Harry and I shouted together, pounding on the door. "Open up!"

Hagrid didn't answer. We could hear Fang scratching at the door, whining, but it didn't open. We hammered on it for ten more minutes; Ron even went and banged on one of the windows, but there was no response.

"What's he avoiding _us_ for?" Hermione said when we had finally given up and were walking back to the school. "He surely doesn't think we'd care about him being half-giant?"

But it seemed that Hagrid did care. We didn't see a sign of him all week. He didn't appear at the staff table at mealtimes, we didn't see him going about his gamekeeper duties on the grounds, and Professor Grubbly-Plank continued to take the Care of Magical Creatures classes. Malfoy was gloating at every possibly opportunity.

"Missing your half-breed pal?" he kept whispering to Harry and I whenever there was a teacher around, so that he was safe from my and Harry's retaliation. "Missing the elephant-man?"

There was a Hogsmeade visit halfway through January. Hermione was very surprised that Harry and I were going to go.

"I just thought you'd both want to take advantage of the common room being quiet," she said. "Really get to work on that egg."

"Oh we - we reckon we've got a pretty good idea what it's about now," Harry lied while I chewed my lip nervously.

"Have you really?" Hermione said, looking impressed. "Well done!"

Harry and I glanced at each other, our insides each giving a guilty squirm, but we ignored it. We still had five weeks to work out that egg clue, after all, and that was ages...whereas if we went into Hogsmeade, we might run into Hagrid, and get a chance to persuade him to come back.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I left the castle together on Saturday and set off through the cold, wet grounds toward the gates. As we passed the Durmstrang ship moored in the lake, we saw Viktor Krum emerge onto the deck, dressed in nothing but swimming trunks. He was very skinny indeed, but apparently a lot tougher than he looked, because he climbed up onto the side of the ship, stretched out his arms, and dived, right into the lake.

"He's mad!" Harry said, staring at Krum's dark head as it bobbed out into the middle of the lake. "It must be freezing, it's January!"

"It's a lot colder where he comes from," Hermione said. "I suppose it feels quite warm to him."

"Yeah, but there's still the giant squid," Ron said. He didn't sound anxious - if anything, he sounded hopeful. Hermione noticed his tone of voice and frowned.

"He's really nice, you know," she said. "He's not at all like you'd think, coming from Durmstrang. He likes it much better here, he told me."

"Yeah. You just need to get to know him. Once he really warms up to someone, he really becomes a sweet guy." I said in agreement with Hermione, having spent time with her and Krum during the Yule Ball and finding out just how much of a nice guy he was. Harry didn't look about that, but held his tongue.

Harry and I kept our eyes peeled for a sign of Hagrid all the way down the slushy High Street, and he suggested a visit to the Three Broomsticks once we had ascertained that Hagrid was not in any of the shops.

The pub was as crowded as ever, but one quick look around at all the tables told Harry and I that Hagrid wasn't there. Hearts sinking, we went up to the bar with Ron and Hermione, ordered four butterbeers from Madam Rosmerta, and thought gloomily that we might just as well have stayed behind and listened to the egg wailing after all.

"Doesn't he _ever_ go into the office?" Hermione whispered suddenly. "Look!"

She pointed into the mirror behind the bar, and Harry and I saw Ludo Bagman reflected there, sitting in a shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in a low voice to the goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed and were looking rather menacing.

It was indeed odd, I thought, that Bagman was here at the Three Broomsticks on a weekend when there was no Triwizard event, and therefore no judging to be done. We watched Bagman in the mirror. He was looking strained again, quite as strained as he had that night in the forest before the Dark Mark had appeared. But just then Bagman glanced over at the bar, saw Harry and I, and stood up.

"In a moment, in a moment!" Harry and I heard him say brusquely to the goblins, and Bagman hurried through the pub toward us, his boyish grin back in place.

"Harry! Cheyenne!" he said. "How are you both? Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?"

"Fine, thanks," Harry and I said.

"Wonder if I could have a quick, private word, Harry, Cheyenne?" Bagman said eagerly. "You couldn't give us a moment, you two, could you?"

"Er - okay," Ron said, and he and Hermione went off to find a table

Bagman led Harry and I along the bar to the end furthest from Madam Rosmerta.

"Well, I just thought I'd congratulate you both again on your splendid performance against that Horntail, Harry, Cheyenne," Bagman said "Really superb.'

"Thanks..." Harry and I said, but we knew this couldn't be all that Bagman wanted to say, because he could have congratulated Harry and I in front of Ron and Hermione. Bagman didn't seem in any particular rush to spill the beans, though. Harry and I saw him glance into the mirror over the bar at the goblins, who were all watching him, Harry, and myself in silence, through their dark, slanting eyes.

"Absolute nightmare," Bagman said to Harry and I in an undertone, noticing us watching the goblins too. "Their English isn't too good...it's like being back with all the Bulgarians at the Quidditch World Cup...but at least _they_ used sign language another human could recognize. This lot keep gabbling in Gobbledegook...and I only know one word of Gobbledegook. _Bladvak._ It means 'pickaxe'. I don't like to use it in case they think I'm threatening them."

He gave a short, booming laugh.

"What do they want?" Harry asked as we noticed how the goblins were still watching Bagman very closely.

"Er - well.." Bagman said, looking suddenly nervous. "They...er...they're looking for Barty Crouch."

"Why are they looking for him here?" I asked. "He's at the Ministry in London, isn't it?"

"Er...as a matter of fact, I've no idea where he is," Bagman said. "He's sort of...stopped coming to work. Been absent for a couple of weeks now. Young Percy, his assistant, says he's ill. Apparently he's just been sending instructions in by owl. But would either of you mind not mentioning that to anyone, Harry, Cheyenne? Because Rita Skeeter's still poking around everywhere she can, and I'm willing to bet she'd work up Barty's illness into something sinister. Probably say he's gone missing like Bertha Jorkins."

"Have you heard anything about Bertha Jorkins?" Harry and I asked.

"No," Bagman said, looking strained again. "I've got people looking, of course..." (_About time_, Harry and I thought, glancing at each other) "and it's all very strange. She definitely _arrived_ in Albania, because she met her second cousin there. And then she left the cousin's house to go south and see an aunt...and she seems to have vanished without trace en route. Blowed if I can see where she's got to...she doesn't seem the type to elope, for instance...but still...What are we doing, talking about goblins and Bertha Jorkins? I really wanted to ask you" - he lowered his voice - "how are you both getting on with your golden egg?"

"Er...not bad," Harry and I said untruthfully.

Bagman seemed to know we weren't being honest.

"Listen, Harry, Cheyenne," he said (still in a very low voice), "I feel very bad about all this...you were both thrown into this tournament, neither of you volunteered for it...and if..." (his voice was so quiet now, Harry and I had to lean closer to listen) "if I can help at all...a prod in the right direction...I've taken a liking to you both...the way you got past that dragon!...well, just say the word."

Harry and I stared up into Bagman's round, rosy face and his wide, baby-blue eyes.

"We're supposed to work out the clues alone, aren't we?" I said, careful to keep my voice casual and not sound as though I was accusing the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports of breaking the rules.

"Well...well, yes," Bagman said impatiently, "but - come on, Harry, Cheyenne - we all want a Hogwarts victory, don't we?"

"Have you offered Cedric help?" Harry asked.

The smallest of frowns creased Bagman's smooth face. "No, I haven't, he said. "I - well, like I say, I've taken a liking to you both. Just thought I'd offer..."

"Well, thanks," Harry said, "but we think we're nearly there with the egg...couple more days should crack it."

Neither of us were entirely sure why we were refusing Bagman's help, expect that Bagman was almost a stranger to us, and accepting his assistance would feel somehow much more like cheating than asking advice from Ron, Hermione, or Sirius.

Bagman looked almost affronted, but couldn't say much more as Fred and George turned up at that point.

"Hello, Mr. Bagman," Fred siad brightly. "Can we buy you a drink?"

"Er...no," Bagman said, with a last disappointed glance at Harry and I, "no, thank you, boys..."

Fred and George looked quite as disappointed as Bagman, who was surveying Harry and I as though we had let him down badly. Fred, noticing his gaze, slid an arm around my waist and moved me away from Bagman, frowning deeply. An agitated look crossed Harry's face and I could see his hands clench.

"Well, I must dash," Bagman said. "Nice seeing you all. Good luck, Harry, Cheyenne."

He hurried out of the pub. The goblins all slid off their chairs and exited after him. Fred whispered to me to be careful of Bagman before he and George disappeared again. Harry and I rejoined Ron and Hermione.

"What did he want?" Ron asked, the moment Harry and I had sat down at opposite ends of the table.

"He offered to help us with the golden egg," Harry said.

"He shouldn't be doing that!" Hermione said, looking very shocked. "He's one of the judges! And anyway, you've both already worked it out - haven't you?"

"Er...nearly," Harry said.

"Well, I don't think Dumbledore would like it if he knew Bagman was trying to persuade you both to cheat!" Hermione said, still looking deeply disapproving. "I hope he's trying to help Cedric as much!"

"He's not, we asked," I said.

"Who cares if Diggory's getting help?" Ron said. I could see Harry privately agreeing and I frowned deeply in disapproval.

"Those goblins didn't look very friendly," Hermione said, sipping her butterbeer. "What were they doing here?"

"Looking for Crouch, according to Bagman," Harry said. "he's still ill. Hasn't been into work."

"Maybe Percy's poisoning him," Ron said. "Probably thinks if Crouch snuffs it he'll be made Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

Hermione gave Ron a don't-joke-about-things-like-that look, and said, "Funny, goblins looking for Crouch...They'd normally deal with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Crouch can speak loads of different languages, though," I said. "Maybe they need an interpreter."

"Worrying about poor 'ickle goblins, now, are you?" Ron asked Hermione. "Thinking of starting up S.P.U.G. or something? Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins?'

"Ha, ha, ha," Hermione said sarcastically. "Goblins don't need protection. Haven't you been listening to what Professor Binns has been telling us about goblin rebellions?"

"No," Harry and Ron said together.

"Goblins are quite capable of dealing with wizards," I said, taking a sip of my own butterbeer. "They're very clever and know how to fend for themselves."

"They're not like house-elves," Hermione said, "who never stick up for themselves."

"Uh-oh," Ron said, staring at the door.

Rita Skeeter had just entered. She was wearing banana-yellow robes today; her long nails were painted shocking pink, and she was accompanied by her paunchy photographer. She bought drinks, and she and the photographer made their way through the crowds to a table nearby, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I glaring at her as she approached. She was talking fast and looking very satisfied about something.

"...didn't seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think? And what's he doing with a pack of goblins in tow anyway? Showing them the sights...what nonsense...he was always a bad liar. Reckon something's up? Think we should do a bit of digging? 'Disgraced Ex-Head of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman...' Snappy start to a sentence, Bozo - we just need to find a story to fit it -"

"Trying to ruin someone else's life?" Harry said loudly.

"Harry!" I said, shocked, even though I'd been dying to do the same thing.

A few people looked around. Rita Skeeter's eyes widened behind her jeweled spectacles as she saw who had spoke.

"Harry!" she said, beaming. "And Cheyenne! How lovely! Why don't you both come and join - ?"

"We wouldn't come near you with a ten-foot broomstick," I spat out furiously, returning my attention to her. "What did you do that to Hagrid for, eh?"

Rita Skeeter raised her heavily penciled eyebrows.

"Our readers have a right to the truth, Cheyenne. I am merely doing my -"

"Who cares if he's half-giant?" Harry shouted. "There's nothing wrong with him!"

The whole pub had gone very quiet. Madam Rosmerta was staring over from behind the bar, apparently oblivious to the fact that the flagon she was filling with mead was overflowing.

Rita Skeeter's smile flickered very slightly, but she hitched it back almost at once; she snapped open her crocodile-skin handbag, pulled out her Quick-Quotes Quill, and said, "How about giving me an interview about the Hagrid _you both_ know, Harry, Cheyenne? The man behind the muscles? Your unlikely friendship and the reason behind it. Would either of you call him a father substitute?"

Hermione stood up very abruptly, her butterbeer clutched in her hand as though it were a grenade.

"You horrible woman," she said, through gritted teeth, "you don't care, do you, anything for a story, and anyone will do, won't they? Even Ludo Bagman -"

"Sit down, you silly little girl, and don't talk about things you don't understand," Rita Skeeter said coldly, her eyes hardening as they fell on Hermione. "I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl..._not_ that it needs it -" she added, eyeing Hermione's bushy hair.

I slammed my fist, hard, on the table, shooting to my feet, opening my mouth to speak, but Hermione caught my arm.

"It's all right, Chey. Let's go," she said, steering me away from the table, "c'mon, Harry - Ron..."

We left; many people were staring at us as we went. I glanced back as we reached the door. Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill was out; it was zooming backward and forward over a piece of parchment on the table.

"She'll be after you next, Hermione," Ron said in a low and worried voice as we walked quickly back up the street.

"Let her try!" Hermione said defiantly; she was shaking with rage. "I'll show her! Silly little girl, am I? Oh, I'll get her back for this. First Harry and Chey, then Hagrid..."

"You don't want to go upsetting Rita Skeeter," Ron said nervously. "I'm serious, Hermione, she'll dig up something on you -"

"My parents don't read the _Daily Prophet_. She can't scare me into hiding!" Hermione said, now striding along so fast that it was all Harry, Ron, and I could do to keep up with her. The last time either Harry or I had seen Hermione in a rage like this, she had hit Draco Malfoy around the face. "And Hagrid isn't hiding anymore!" He should _never_ have let that excuse for a human being upset him! Come _on_!"

Breaking into a run, she led us all the way back up the road, through the gates flanked by winged boars, and up through the grounds to Hagrid's cabin.

The curtains were still drawn, and we could hear Fang barking as we approached.

"Hagrid!" Hermione shouted, pounding on his front door. "Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you're just being -"

The door opened. Hermione said, "About t -!" and then stopped, very suddenly, because she had found herself face-to-face, not with Hagrid, but with Albus Dumbledore.

"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly, smiling down at us.

"We - er - we wanted to see Hagrid," Hermione said in a rather small voice.

"Yes, I surmised as much," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "Why don't you come in?"

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," I said, seeing Hermione was now at a loss for words.

She, Ron, Harry, and myself went into the cabin; Fang launched himself upon me the moment I entered, barking madly and trying to lick my ears. I stumbled backward, my arms pinwheeling and Harry, who was behind me, caught my shoulders, helping me fend Fang off before we looked around.

Hagrid was sitting at his table, where there were two large mugs of tea. He looked a real mess. His face was blotchy, his eyes swollen, and he had gone to the other extreme where his hair was concerned; far from trying to make it behave, it now looked like a wig of tangled wire.

"Hi, Hagrid," Harry and I said.

Hagrid looked up.

" 'Lo," he said in a very hoarse voice.

"More tea, I think," Dumbledore said, closing the door behind Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, drawing out his wand, and twiddling it; a revolving tea tray appeared in midair along with a plate of cakes. Dumbledore magicked the tray onto the table, and everybody sat down. There was a slight pause, and then Dumbledore said, "Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid?"

Hermione went slightly pink, but Dumbledore smiled at her and continued, "Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Cheyenne still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door."

"Of course we still want to know you!" Harry said, staring at Hagrid. "You don't think anything that Skeeter cow - sorry Professor," he added quickly, looking at Dumbledore.

"I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't any idea what you said, Harry," Dumbledore said, twiddling his thumbs and staring at the ceiling.

"But Harry's right, Hagrid," I said softly, timidly. "He just meant - how could you think we'd care what that - woman - wrote about you?"

Two fat tears leaked out of Hagrid's beetle-black eyes and fell slowly into his tangled beard.

"Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid," Dumbledore said, still looking carefully up at the ceiling. "I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it -"

"Not all of 'em," Hagrid said hoarsely. "Not all of 'em wan' me ter stay."

"Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time," Dumbledore said, now peering sternly over his half-moon spectacles. "Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?"

"Yeh - yeh're not half-giant!" Hagrid said croakily.

"Hagrid, look what we've got for relatives!" Harry said furiously, guesturing to himself and me, making me nod in agreement. "Look at the Dursleys!"

"An excellent point," Professor Dumbledore said. "My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practicing inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery..."

"Come back and teach, Hagrid," Hermione said quietly, "please come back, we really miss you."

Hagrid gulped. More tears leaked out down his cheeks and into his tangled beard.

Dumbledore stood up. "I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday," he said. "You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all."

Dumbledore left the cabin, pausing only to scratch Fang's ears. When the door had shut behind him, Hagrid began to sob into his dustbin-lid-size hands. Hermione kept patting his arm, and at last, Hagrid looked up, his eyes very red indeed, and said, "Great man, Dumbledore...great man..."

"Yeah, he is," Ron said. "Can I have one of these cakes, Hagrid?"

"Help yerself," Hagrid said, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. "Ar, he's righ', o' course - yeh're all righ'...I bin stupid...my ol' dad woulda bin ashamed o' the way I've bin behavin'..." More tears leaked out, but he wiped them away more forcefully, and said, "Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here..."

Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth - he looked hardly older than eleven.

"Tha' was taken jus' after I got inter Hogwarts," Hagrid croaked. "Dad was dead chuffed...thought I migh' not be a wizard, see, 'cos me mum...well, anyway. 'Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really...but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year...

"Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job...trusts people, he does. Gives 'em second chances...tha's what sets him apar' from other Heads, see. He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren'...well...all tha' respectable. But some don' understand that. There's some who'd always hold it against yeh...there's some who'd even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an' say - I am what I am, an' I'm not ashamed. 'Never be ashamed,' my ol' dad used ter say, 'there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin' with.' An' he was right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin' with _her_ no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones...I'll give her big bones."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I looked at one another nervously; both Harry and I would rather have taken fifty Blast-Ended Skrewts for a walk than admit to Hagrid that we had overheard him talking to Madame Maxime, but Hagrid was still talking, apparently unaware that he had said anything odd.

"Yeh know wha', Harry, Cheyenne?" he said, looking up from the photograph of his father, his eyes very bright, "when I firs' met yeh two, you reminded me o' me a bit. Mums an' Dads gone, an' yeh both were feelin' like yeh wouldn't fit in at Hogwarts, remember? Not sure yeh were really up to it...an' now look at yeh, Harry, Cheyenne! School champions!"

He looked at Harry and I for a moment and then said, very seriously, "Yeh know what I'd love? I'd love yeh both ter win, I really would. It'd show 'em all...yeh don' have ter be pureblood ter do it. Yeh don' have ter be ashamed of what yeh are. It'd show 'em Dumbledore's the one who's got it righ', lettin' anyone in as long as they can do magic. How you doin' with that egg, Harry, Cheyenne?"

"Great," Harry and I said. "Really great."

Hagrid's miserable face broke into a wide, watery smile.

"Tha's meh team...yeh both show 'em, Harry, Cheyenne, you show 'em. Beat 'em all."

Lying to Hagrid wasn't quite like lying to anyone else. Harry and I went back to the castle later that afternoon with Ron and Hermione, unable to banish the image of the happy expression on Hagrid's whiskery face as he had imagined Harry and I winning the tournament. The incomprehensible egg weighed more heavily than ever on our consciences that evening, and by the time we had got into bed, we had made up our minds - it was time for him to shelve his pride and see if Cedric's hint was worth anything.


	25. The Egg and the Eye

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**The Egg and the Eye**

As neither Harry nor I had any idea how long a bath we would need to work out the secret of the golden egg, we decided to do it at night, when we would be able to take as much time as we wanted. Reluctant though I knew he was to accept more favors from Cedric, we agreed to use the prefects' bathroom; far few people were allowed in there, so it was much less likely that we would be disturbed.

Harry and I planned our excursion carefully, because we had been caught out of bed and out-of-bounds by Filch the caretaker in the middle of the night once before, and had no desire to repeat the experience. The Invisibility Cloaks would, of course, be essential, and as an added precaution, Harry and I thought we would take the Marauder's Map, which, next to the cloak, was the most useful aid to rule-breaking either of us owned. The map showed the whole of Hogwarts, including its many shortcuts and secret passageways and, most important of all, it revealed the people inside the castle as minuscule, labeled dots, moving around the corridors, so that Harry and I would be forewarned if somebody was approaching the bathroom.

On Thursday night, Harry and I sneaked up to his dormitory, put on the cloak, crept back downstairs, and, just as we had done on the night when Hagrid had shown us the dragons, waited for the portrait hole to open. This time, it was Ron who waited outside to give the Fat Lady the password ("banana fritters."). "Good luck," Ron muttered, climbing into the room as Harry and I crept out past him.

It was awkward moving under the cloak tonight, because Harry and I had to stand so close together, hold the golden egg under one of our arms, and keep the map out in front of us every step of the way. However, the moonlit corridors were empty and silent, and by checking the map at strategic intervals, Harry and I were able to ensure that we wouldn't run into anyone we wanted to avoid. When we reached the statue of Boris the Bewildered, a lost-looking wizard with his gloves on the wrong hands, we located the right door, leaned close to it, and muttered the password, "Pine fresh," just as Cedric had told us.

The door creaked open. Harry and I slipped inside, bolted the door behind us, and pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, looking around.

Our immediate reaction was that it would be worth becoming a prefect just to be able to use this bathroom. It was softly lit by a splendid candle-filled chandelier, and everything was made of white marble, including what looked like an empty, rectangular swimming pool sunk into the middle of the floor. About a hundred golden taps stood all around the pool's edges, each with a different colored jewel set into its handle. There was also a diving board. Long white linen curtains hung at the windows; a large pile of fluffy white towels sat in a corner, and there was a single golden-framed painting on the wall. It featured a blonde mermaid who was fast asleep on a rock, her long hair over her face. It fluttered every time she snored.

Harry and I moved forward, looking around, our footsteps echoing off the walls. Magnificent though the bathroom was - and quite keen though we were to try out a few of those taps - now that we were here we couldn't quite surpress the feeling that Cedric might have been having us on. How on earth was this supposed to help solve the mystery of the egg? Nevertheless, we each put two of the fluffy towels, the cloak, the map, and the egg at the side of the swimming-pool-sized bath, then knelt down and we each turned on a few of the taps.

We could tell at once that they carried different sorts of bubble bath mixed with the water, though it wasn't bubble bath as either Harry or I had ever experienced it. One tap gushed pink and blue bubbles the size of footballs; another poured ice-white foam so thick that Harry and I thought it would have supported both our weights combined if we'd cared to test it; a third sent heavily perfumed purple clouds hovering over the surface of the water. Harry and I amused ourselves for a while turning the taps on and off, particularly enjoying the effect of one whose jet bounced off the surface of the water in large arcs. Then, when the deep pool was full of hot water, foam, and bubbles, which took a very short time considering its size, Harry and I turned off all the taps, intending to get in. Harry turned his back while I pulled off my nightgown, slippers, and dressing gown, wrapped myself tightly in one of my fluffy towels, and slid into the water. Harry followed close behind, a towel wrapped around his waist.

It was so deep that our feet barely touched the bottom, and we each actually did a couple of lengths before swimming back to the side and treading water, staring at the egg. Highly enjoyable though it was to swim in hot and foamy water with clouds of different-colored steam wafting all around us, no stroke of brilliance came to either of us, no sudden burst of understand.

Harry and I stretched out our arms, lifted the egg in our wet hands, and opened it. The wailing, screeching sound filled the bathroom, echoing and reverberating off the marble walls, but it sounded just as incomprehensible as ever, if not more so with all the echos. We snapped it shut again, worried that the sound would attract Filch, wondering whether that hadn't been Cedric's plan - and then, making us both jump so badly that we dropped the egg, which clattered away across the bathroom floor, someone spoke.

"I'd try putting it _in_ the water, if I were either of you."

I stood abruptly, clutching the now drenched towel to my figure, glancing quickly around for the source of the voice. My gaze slid over the ghost of a very glum-looking girl sitting cross-legged on top of one of the taps. It was Moaning Myrtle, who was usually to be heard sobbing in the S-bend of a toilet three floors below.

"Myrtle!" Harry said in outrage. "We're - neither of us are wearing anything!"

"I closed my eyes when you both got in...but you don't seem to care about being naked in the tub together, do you?" she said, blinking at us through her thick spectacles. I flushed a bright red and scooted away from Harry, playing with a stray strand of hair that was falling in front of my face. Harry snorted irritably.

"I'm sure Chey wouldn't mind it if it was _someone else_!" he growled under his breath and anger rushed through me.

"Oh, you cannot just let it go, can you?" I snapped back at him, glaring. Myrtle's glasses flashed and a smirk worked it's way across her transluscent lips.

"Neither of you have been to see me for _ages_."

"Yeah...well..." Harry said, sinking lower into the tub so only his neck and up could be see. I sank lower as well until my chin touched the water's surface, glaring at the wall opposite us, "_I'm_ not supposed to come into your bathroom, am I? It's a girls' one."

"You didn't used to care," Myrtle said miserably. "You used to be in there all the time."

This was true, though only becaue Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I had found Myrtle's out-of-order toilets a convenient place to brew Polyjuice Potion in secret - a forbidden potion that had turned him, Ron, and myself into living replicas of Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson for an hour, so that we could sneak into the Slytherin common room.

"I got told off for going in there," Harry said, which was half-true; Percy had once caught him coming out of Myrtle's bathroom. "I thought I'd better not come back after that."

"Oh...I see..." Myrtle said, picking a spot on her chin in a morose sort of way. "Well...anyway...I'd try the egg in the water. That's what Cedric Diggory did."

"Have you been spying on him too?" I said indignantly. "What d'you do, sneak up here in the evenings to watch the prefects take baths?"

"Sometimes," Myrtle said, rather slyly, "but I've never come out to speak to anyone before."

"We're honored," Harry and I said darkly. "You keep your eyes shut!"

He made sure Myrtle had her glasses well covered and I'd turned my head before I heard him hoist himself out of the bath, presumably switched his wet towel for the dry one and went to retrieve the egg. Once I'd heard the unmistakable sound of him sinking back into the water, I peered out from under my eyelashes, then, once I knew I was safe, I hoped them fully and turned to face him again. Myrtle peered through her fingers at us and said, "Go on, then...open it under the water!"

Placing my hands on the egg with Harry's, I helped lower the egg beneath the foamy surface and opened it...and this time, it did not wail. A gurgling song was coming out of it, a song whose words we couldn't distinguish through the water.

"You both need to put your heads under too," Myrtle said, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying bossing us around. "Go on!"

Harry and I each took a great breath and slid under the surface - and now, sitting on the marble bottom of the bubble-filled bath, we heard a chorus of eerie voices singing to us from the open egg in our hands:

_"Come seek us where our voices sound,_

_We cannot sing above the ground,_

_And while you're searching, ponder this:_

_We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_

_An hour long you'll have to look,_

_And to recover what we took,_

_But past an hour - the prospect's black_

_Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."_

Harry and I let outselves float back upward and broke the bubbly surface, shaking our hair out of our eyes.

"Hear it?" Myrtle asked.

"Yeah... 'Come seek us where our voies sound...' and if we need persuading...hang on, we need to listen again..."

We sank back beneath the water. It took three more underwater renditions of the egg's song before Harry and I had it memorized; then we trod water for a while, thinking hard, while Myrtle sat and watched us.

"We've got to go and look for people who can't use their voices above the ground..." he said slowly. "Er...who could that be?"

"Slow, aren't you?"

Neither of us had ever seen Moaning Myrtle so cheerful, apart from the day when a dose of Polyjuice Potion had given Hermione the hairy face and tail of a cat. Harry and I stared around the bathroom, thinking...if the voices could only be heard underwater, then it made sense for them to belong to underwater creatures. We ran this theory past Myrtle, who smirked at us.

"Well, that's what Diggory thought," she said. "He lay there talking to himself for ages about it. Ages and ages...nearly all the bubbles had gone..."

"Underwater," Harry said slowly. "Myrtle...what lives in the lake, apart from the giant squid?"

"Oh all sorts," she said. "I sometimes go down there...sometimes don't have any choice, if someone flushes my toilet when I'm not expecting it..."

Trying not to think about Moaning Myrtle zooming down a pipe to the lake with the contents of a toilet, I gazed about the bathroom, my eyes suddenly landing on the picture of the snoozing mermaid on the wall. It clicked and I put two and two together.

"AH! I'm an idiot!" I screeched, making Harry and Myrtle jump. _"Merpeople!_ Harry, it's _merpeople!_ Myrtle, there are merpeople in the lake, aren't there?!" I questioned, turning abruptly to the ghost girl.

"Oooh, very good," she said, her thick glasses twinkling, "it took Diggory much longer than that! And that was with _her_ awake too" - Myrtle jerked her head toward the mermaid with an expression of great dislike on her glum face - "giggling and showing off and flashing her fins..."

"That's it, isn't it?" Harry said excitedly. "The second tasks' to go and find the merpeople in the lake and...and..."

But we suddenly realized what we were saying, and we felt the excitement drain out of us as though someone had just pulled a plug in our stomachs. While I'd trained myself to swim from watching Dudley in local pools, the Dursleys had made sure neither Harry nor I had had lessons like their son. They'd no doubt hoped we'd drown one day if we couldn't swim. A couple of lengths of this bath were all very well, but that lake was very large, and very deep...and merpeople would surely live right at the bottom...

"Myrtle," Harry said slowly, "how are we supposed to _breathe_?"

At this, Myrtle's eyes filled with sudden tears again.

"Tactless!" she muttered, groping in her robes for a handkerchief.

"What's tactless?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Harry, she's sensitive about this stuff! She's a ghost, she hasn't been able to breath since she died!" I said quickly, raising my eyebrows. Realization dawned on his face. However, I could understand his mistake since none of the other ghosts we knew made such a fuss about it. Then again they were more mature and not dead teenagers.

"Sorry," he said impatiently. "I didn't mean - I just forgot..."

"Oh yes, very easy to forget Myrtle's dead," Myrtle said, gulping, looking at him out of swollen eyes. "Nobody missed me even when I was alive. Took them hours and hours to find my body - I know, I was sitting there waiting for them. Olive Hornby came into the bathroom - 'Are you in here again, sulking, Myrtle?' she said, 'because Professor Dippet asked me to look for you -' And then she saw my body...ooooh, she didn't forget it until her dying day, I made sure of that...followed her around and reminded her, I did. I remember at her brother's wedding -"

But neither Harry or I were listening; we were thinking about the merpeople's song again. _"We've taken what you'll sorely miss."_ That sounded as though they were going to steal something from both of us, something we had to get back. What were they going to take?

" - and then, of course, she went to the Ministry of Magic to stop me stalking her, so I had to come back here and live in my toilet."

"Good," Harry said vaguely. "Well, we're a lot further on than we were...Shut your eyes again, will you? We're getting out."

We retrieved the egg from the bottom of the bath, I climbed out with it, dried off, and pulled on my night gown and dressing gown again. Once I was ready, I turned to give Harry privacy and he got out, dried off, and dressed again as well.

"Will you come and visit me in my bathroom again sometime?" Moaning Myrtle asked mournfully as Harry picked up the Invisibility Cloak and I hung our wet towels on the edge of the tub to dry.

"Er...we'll try," Harry said, though privately I knew he was thinking the only way he'd be visiting Myrtle's bathroom again was if every other toilet in the castle got blocked. "See you, Myrtle...thanks for your help."

" 'Bye, 'bye," she said gloomily, and as Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over us we saw her zoom back up the tap.

Out in the dark corridor, Harry examined the Marauder's Map to check that the coast was still clear. Yes, the dots belonging to Filch and his cat, Mrs. Norris, was safely in their office...nothing else seemed to be moving apart from Peeves, though he was bouncing around the trophy room on the floor above...Harry and I had taken our first steps back toward Gryffindor Tower when something else on the map caught our eyes...something distinctly odd.

Peeves was _not_ the only thing that was moving. A single dot was flitting around a room in the bottom left-hand corner - Snape's office. But the dot wasn't labeled "Severus Snape"...it was Bartemius Crouch.

Harry and I stared at the dot, Mr. Crouch was supposed to be too ill to go to work or to come to the Yule Ball - so what was he doing, sneaking into Hogwarts at one o'clock in the morning? Harry and I watched closely as the dot moved around and around the room, pausing here and there...

We hesitated, thinking...and then our curiousity got the better of us. We turned and set off in the opposite direction toward the nearest staircase. We were going to see what Crouch was up to.

Harry and I walked down the stairs as quietly as possible, though the faces in some of the portraits still turned curiously at the squeak of a floorboard, the rustle of our pajamas. We crept along the corridor below, pushed aside a tapestry about halfway along, and proceeded down a narrower staircase, a shortcut that would take us down two floors. We kept glancing down at the map, wondering...It just didn't seem in character, somehow, for correct, law-abiding Mr. Crouch to be sneaking around somebody else's office this late at night...

And then, halfway down the staircase, not thinking about what he was doing, not concentrating on anything but the peculiar behavior of Mr. Crouch, Harry suddenly sank. Harry's leg had sank right through the trick step Neville always forgot to jump. He gave an ungainly wobble, and I nearly collided with him, loosing my footing, and the golden egg, still damp from the bath, slipped from under my arm. We lurched forward to try and catch it, but too late; the egg fell down the long staircase with a bang as loud as a bass drum on every step - the Invisibility Cloak slipped - Harry and I snatched at it, and the Marauder's Map fluttered out of his hand and slid down six stairs, where, sunk in the step to above his knee, he couldn't reach it. I, meanwhile, had gotten my leg tangled with his and I was stuck between that and the stair holding him in place.

The golden egg fell through the tapestry at the bottom of the staircase, burst open, and began wailing loudly in the corridor below. Harry pulled out his wand and struggled to touch the Marauder's Map, to wipe it blank, but it was too far away to reach, and -

"Ow ow ow ow OW! Your bending my ankle!" I said, clutching the back of his shirt and jerking his backward to decrease the pressure on my trapped ankle.

Pulling the cloak back over us, Harry straightened up and we listened hard with our eyes screwed up with fear...and, almost immediately -

"PEEVES!"

It was the unmistakable hunting cry of Filch the caretaker. Harry and I could hear his rapid, shuffling footsteps coming nearer and nearer, his wheezy voice raised in fury.

"What's this racket? Wake up the whole castle, will you? I'll have you, Peeves, I'll have you, you'll...and what is this?"

Filch's footsteps halted; there was a clink of metal on metal and the wailing stopped - Filch had picked up the egg and closed it. Harry and I stood very still, each of our legs still jammed tightly in the magical step, listening. Any moment now, Filch was going to pull aside the tapestry, expecting to see Peeves...and there would be no Peeves...but if he came up the stairs, he would spot the Marauder's Map...and Invisibility Cloak or not, the map would show "Harry Potter" and "Cheyenne Power" standing exactly where we were.

"Egg?" Filch said quietly at the foot of the stairs. "My sweet!" - Mrs. Norris was obviously with him - "This is a Triwizard clue! This belongs to a school champion!"

My stomach gave a huge lurch; my heart raced and blood pounded in my ears -

"PEEVES!" Filch roared gleefully. "You've been stealing!"

Hr ripped back the tapestry below, and Harry and I saw his horrible, pouchy face and bulging, pale eyes staring up the dark and (to Filch) deserted staircase. I clutched Harry's dressing gown, shaking.

"Hiding, are you?" he said softly. "I'm coming to get you, Peeves...You've gone and stolen a Triwizard clue, Peeves...Dumbledore'll have you out of here for this, you filthy, pilfering poltergeist..."

Filch started to climb the stairs, his scrawny, dust-colored cat at his heels. Mrs. Norris's lamp-like eyes, so very like her master's, were fixed directly upon Harry and myself. We had had occasion before now to wonder whether the Invisibility Cloaks worked on cats...Sick with apprehension, we watched Filch drawing nearer and nearer in his old flannel dressing gown - he tried desperately to pull his trapped leg free, but it merely sank a few more inches, and my foot turned more to the side at the ankle, making me grit my teeth in pain - any second now, Filch was going to spot the map or walk right into us -

"Filch? What's going on?"

Filch stopped a few steps below Harry and I, and turned. At the foot of the stairs stood the only person who could make our situation worse: Snape. He was wearing a long gray nightshirt and he looked livid.

"It's Peeves, Professor," Filch whispered malevolently. "He threw this egg down the stairs."

Snape climbed up the stairs quickly and stopped beside Filch. Harry and I gritted out teeth, convinced our loudly thumping hearts would give us away at any second...

"Peeves?" Snape said softly, staring at the egg in Filch's hands. "But Peeves couldn't get into my office..."

"This egg was in your office, Professor?"

"Of course not," Snape snapped. "I heard banging and wailing -"

"Yes, Professor, that was the egg -"

" - I was coming to investigate -"

" - Peeves threw it, Professor -"

" - and when I passed my office, I saw that the torches were lit and a cupboard door was ajar! Somebody has been searching it!"

"But Peeves couldn't -"

"I know he couldn't, Filch!" Snape snapped again. "I seal my office with a spell none but a wizard could break!" Snape looked up the stairs, straight through Harry and I, and then down into the corridor below. "I want you to come and help me search for the intruder, Filch."

"I - yes, Professor - but -"

Filch looked yearningly up the stairs, right through Harry and myself, both of whom could see that he was very reluctant to forgo the chance of cornering Peeves. _Go_, We pleaded with him silently, _go with Snape...go..._Mrs. Norris was peering around Filch's legs...Harry and I had the distinct impression that she could smell us...Why did we fill that bath with so much perfumed foam?

"The thing is, Professor," Filch said plaintively, "the headmaster will have to listen to me this time. Peeves has been stealing from a student, it might be my chance to get him thrown out of the castle once and for all -"

"Filch, I don't give a damn about that wretched poltergeist; it's my office that's -"

_Clunk. Clunk. Clunk._

Snape stopped talking very abruptly. He and Filch both looked down at the foot of the stairs. Harry and I saw Mad-Eye Moody limp into sight through the narrow gap between their heads. Moody was wearing his old traveling cloak over his nightshirt and leaning on his staff as usual.

"Pajama party, is it?" he growled up the stairs.

"Professor Snape and I heard noises, Professor," Filch said at once. "Peeves the Poltergeist, throwing things around as usual - and then Professor Snape discovered that someone had broken into his off -"

"Shut up!" Snape hissed to Filch.

Moody took a step closer to the foot of the stairs. Harry and I saw Moody's magical eye travel over Snape, and then, unmistakably, onto us.

My heart flipped over itself. _Moody could see through Invsibility Cloaks_...he alone could see the full strangeness of the scene: Snape in his nightshirt, Filch clutching the egg, and we, Harry and Cheyenne, trapped in the stairs behind them. Moody's lopsided gash of a mouth opened in surprise. For a few seconds, he, Harry, and I stared, in turn, into each other's eyes. Then Moody closed his mouth and turned his blue eye upon Snape again.

"Did I hear that correctly, Snape?" he asked slowly. "Someone broke into your office?"

"It is unimportant," Snape said coldly.

"On the contrary," Moody growled, "it is very important. Who'd want to break into your office?"

"A student, I daresay," Snape said. I could see a vein flickering horribly on Snape's greasy temple. "It has happened before. Potion ingredients have gone missing from my private store cupboard...students attempting illicit mixtures, no doubt..."

"Reckon they were after potion ingredients, eh?" Moody said. "Not hiding anything else in your office, are you?"

The edge of Snape's sallow face turned a nasty brick color, the vein in his temple pulsing more rapidly.

"You know I'm hiding nothing, Moody," he said in a soft and dangerous voice, "as you've searched my office pretty thoroughly yourself."

Moody's face twisted into a smile. "Auror's privilege, Snape. Dumbledore told me to keep an eye -"

"Dumbledore happens to trust me," Snape said through clenched teeth. "I refuse to believe that he gave you orders to search my office!"

" 'Course Dumbledore trusts you," Moody growled. "He's a trusting man, isn't he? Believes in second chances. But me - I say there are spots that don't come off, Snape. Spots that never come off, d'you know what I mean?"

Snape suddenly did something very strange. He seized his left forearm convulsively with his right hand, as though something on it had hurt him.

Moody laughed. "Get back to bed, Snape."

"You don't have the authority to send me anywhere!" Snape hissed, letting go of his arm as though angry with himself. "I have as much right to prowl this school after dark as you do!"

"Prowl away," Moody said, but his voice was full of menace. "I look forward to meeting you in a dark corridor some time...You've dropped something, by the way..."

With a stab of horror, Harry and I saw Moody point at the Marauder's Map, still lying on the staircase six steps below us. As Snape and Filch both turned to look at it, Harry and I threw caution to the winds; we raised our arms under the cloak and waved furiously at Moody to attract his attention, mouthing "It's ours! _Ours!"_

Snape had reached out for it, a horrible expression of dawning comprehension on his face -

_Accio Parchment!"_

The map flew up into the air, slipped through Snape's outstretched fingers, and soared down the stairs into Moody's hand.

"My mistake," Moody said calmly. "It's mine - must've dropped it earlier -"

But Snape's black eyes were darting from the egg in Filch's arms to the map in Moody's hand, and Harry and I could tell he was putting two and two together, as only Snape could...

"Powter," he said quietly.

"What's that?" Moody said calmly, folding up the map and pocketing it.

"Potter and Power!" Snape snarled, and he actually turned his head and stared right at the place where Harry and I were, as though he could suddenly see us. "That egg is Potter and Power's egg. That piece of parchment belongs to them. I have seen it before, I recognize it! Potter and Power are here! Potter and Power, in their Invisibility Cloaks!"

Snape stretched out his hands like a blind man and began to move up the stairs; I could have sworn his over-large nostrils were dilating, trying to sniff us out - trapped, Harry reached behind him and wrapped his arm around my waist as we began leaning backward, trying to avoid Snape's fingertips, but any moment now -

"There's nothing there, Snape!" Moody barked, "but I'll be happy to tell the headmaster how quickly your mind jumped to Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power!"

"Meaning what?" Snape turned again to look at Moody, his hands still outstretched, inches from Harry's chest.

"Meaning that Dumbledore's very interested to know who's got it in for that duo!" Moody said, limping nearer still to the foot of the stairs. "And so am I, Snape...very interested..." The tourchlight flickered across his mangled face, so that the scars, and the chunk missing from his nose, looked deeper and darker than ever.

Snape was looking down at Moody, but neither Harry or I could see the expression on his face. For a moment, nobody moved or said anything. Then Snape slowly lowered his hands.

"I merely thought," Snape said, in a voice of forced calm, "that if Potter and Power were wandering round after hours again...it's an unfortunate habit of theirs...they should be stopped. For - for their own safety."

"Ah, I see," Moody said softly. "Got Potter and Power's best interests at heart, have you?"

There was a pause. Snape and Moody were still staring at each other. Mrs. Norris gave a loud meow, still peering around Filch's legs, looking for the source of my and Harry's bubble-bath smell.

"I think I will go back to bed," Snape said curtly.

"Best idea you've had all night," Moody said. "Now, Filch, if you'll just give me that egg -"

"No!" Filch said, clutching the egg as though it were his first-born son. "Professor Moody, this is evidence of Peeves' treachery!"

"It's the property of the champions he stole it from," Moody said. "Hand it over, now."

Snape swept downstairs and passed Moody without another word. Filch made a chirruping noise to Mrs. Norris, who stared blankly at Harry and I for a few more seconds before turning and following her master. Still breathing very fast, Harry and I heard Snape walking away down the corridor; Filch handed Moody the egg and disappeared from view too, muttering to Mrs. Norris. "Never mind, my sweet...we'll see Dumbledore in the morning...tell him what Peeves was up to..."

A door slammed. Harry and I were left staring down at Moody, who placed his staff on the bottommost stair and started to climb laboriously toward us, a dull _clunk_ on every other step.

"Close shave, Potter, Power," he muttered.

"Yeah...we - er...thanks," Harry said weakly.

"What is this thing?" Moody asked, drawing the Marauder's Map out of his pocket and unfolding it.

"Map of Hogwarts," I managed to choke out, hoping Moody was going to pull us out of the staircase soon; our legs were really hurting us.

"Merlin's beard," Moody whispered, staring at the map, his magical eye going haywire. "This...this is some map, Power!"

"Yeah, it's...quite useful," Harry said. My ankle felt like it was going to snap in half from the pressure. "Er - Professor Moody, d'you think you could help us -?"

"What? Oh! yes...yes, of course..."

Moody took hold of Harry's arms and pulled; Harry's leg came free of the trick step, and I fell backward with a yelp. Harry climbed onto the one above the trick step beside me and helped me up. Moody was still gazing at the map.

"Potter...Power..." he said slowly, "neither of you happened, by any chance, to see who broke into Snape's office, did you? On this map, I mean?"

"Er...yeah, we did..." Harry admitted. "It was Mr. Crouch."

Moody's magical eye whizzed over the entire surface of the map. He looked suddenly alarmed.

"Crouch?" he said. "You're - you're both sure, Potter, Power?"

"Positive," I said.

"Well, he's not here anymore," Moody said, his eye still whizzing over the map. "Crouch...that's very - very interesting..."

He said nothing for almost a minute, still staring at the map. Harry and I could tell that this news meant something to Moody and very much wanted to know what it was. We wondered whether we dared to ask. Moody scared us slightly...yet Moody had just helped us avoid an awful lot of trouble...

"Er...Professor Moody...why d'you reckon Mr. Crouch wanted to look around Snape's office?"

Moody's magical eye left the map and fixed, quivering, upon Harry and myself. It was a penetrating glare, and Harry and I had the impression that Moody was sizing us up, wondering whether to answer or not, or how much to tell us.

"Put it this way, Potter, Power," Moody muttered finally, "they say old Mad-Eye's obsessed with catching Dark wizards...but I'm nothing - _nothing_ - compared to Barty Crouch."

He continued to stare at the map. Harry and I were burning to know more.

"Professor Moody?" he said again. "D'you think...could this have anything to do with...maybe Mr. Crouch thinks there's something going on..."

"Like what?" Moody said sharply.

Harry and I glanced at each other, wondering how much we dare say. We didn't want Moody to guess that we had a source of information outside Hogwarts; that might lead to tricky questions about Sirius.

"We don't know," I muttered, "odd stuff's been happening lately, hasn't it? It's been in the _Daily Prophet_...the Dark Mark at the World Cup, and the Death Eaters and everything..."

Both of Moody's mismatched eyes widened.

"You're sharp kids, Potter, Power," he said. His magical eye roved back to the Marauder's Map. "Crouch could be thinking along those lines," he said slowly. "Very possible...there have been some funny rumors flying around lately - helped along by Rita Skeeter, of course. It's making a lot of people nervous, I reckon." A grim smile twisted his lopsided mouth. "Oh if there's one thing I hate," he muttered, more to himself than either Harry or I, and his magical eye was fixed on the left-hand corner of the map, "it's a Death Eater who walked free..."

Harry and I stared at him. Could Moody possibly mean what we though he meant?

"And now I want to ask _you two_ a question, Potter, Power," Moody said in a more businesslike tone.

Our hearts sank we had thought this was coming. Moody was going to ask where we had got this map, which was a very dubious magical object - and the story of how it had fallen into our hands incriminated not only us, but our own fathers, my boyfriend and his brother, Fred and George Weasley, and Professor Lupin, our last Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Moody waved the map in front of Harry and I, and we braced ourselves -

"Can I borrow this?"

"Oh!" Harry and I said.

We were very fond of our map, but on the other hand, we were extremely relieved that Moody wasn't asking where we'd got it, and there was no doubt that we owed Moody a favor.

"Yeah, okay."

"Good," Moody growled. "I can make good use of this...this might be _exactly_ what I've been looking for...Right, bed, Potter, Power, come on, now..."

We climbed to the top of the stairs together, Moody still examining the map as though it was a treasure the like of which he had never seen before. We walked in silence to the door of Moody's office, where he stopped and looked up at Harry and I.

"Either of you ever thought of a career as an Auror, Potter, Power?"

"No," Harry and I said, taken aback.

"You'll both want to consider it," Moody said, nodding and looking at Harry and I thoughtfully. "Yes, indeed...and incidentally...I'm guessing either of you were just taking that egg for a walk tonight?"

"Er - no," Harry said, grinning.

"We've been working out the clue." I finished, scratching at the back of my neck.

Moody winked at us, his magical eye going haywire again.

"Nothing like a nighttime stroll to give you both ideas...See you both in the morning..."

He went back into his office, staring down at the Marauder's Map again, and closed the door behind him.

Harry and I walked slowly back to Gryffindor Tower, lost in a whispered discussion about Snape, and Crouch, and what it all meant...Why was Crouch pretending to be ill, if he could manage to get to Hogwarts when he wanted to? What did he think Snape was concealing in his office?

And Moody thought we, Harry and Cheyenne, ought to be Aurors! Interesting idea...but somehow, Harry and I thought, as we paused in the common room to finish our conversation ten minutes later, we thought we'd like to check how scarred the rest of them were before we chose it as a career.


	26. The Second Task

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**The Second Task**

"You both said you'd already worked out that egg clue!" Hermione said indignantly.

"Keep your voice down!" Harry said crossly. "We just need to - sort of fine-tune it, all right?"

He, Ron, Hermione, and I were sitting at the very back of the Charms class with a table to ourselves. We were supposed to be practicing the opposite of the Summoning Charm today - the Banishing Charm. Owing to the potential for nasty accidents when objects kept flying across the room, Professor Flitwick had given each student a stack of cushions on which to practice, the theory being that these wouldn't hurt anyone if they went off target. It was a good theory, but it wasn't working very well. Neville's aim was so poor that he kept accidentally sending much heavier things flying across the room - Professor Flitwick, for instance.

"Just forget the egg for a minute, all right?" I hissed as Professor Flitwick went whizzing resignedly past us, landing on top of a large cabinet. "We're trying to tell you about Snape and Moody..."

This class was an ideal cover for a private conversation, as everyone was having far too much fun to pay us any attention. Harry and I had been recounting our adventures of the previous night in whispered installments for the last half hour.

"Snape said Moody's searched his office as well?" Ron whispered, his eyes alight with interest as he Banished a cushion with a sweep of his wand (it soared into the air and knocked Parvati's hat off). "What...d'you reckon Moody's here to keep an eye on Snape as well as Karkaroff?"

"Well, I dunno if that's what Dumbledore asked him to do, but he's definitely doing it," Harry said, waving his wand without paying much attention, so that his cushion did an odd sort of belly flop off the desk. "Moody said Dumbledore only lets Snape stay here because he's giving him a second chance or something..."

"What?" Ron said, his eyes widening, his next cushion spinning high into the air, ricocheting off the chandelier, and dropping heavily onto Flitwick's desk. "Harry...Chey...maybe Moody thinks _Snape_ put your names in the Goblet of Fire!"

"Oh Ron," Hermione said, shaking her head skeptically, "we thought Snape was trying to kill Harry and Chey before, and it turned out he was saving Harry and Chey's lives, remember?"

She Banished a cushion and it flew across the room and landed in the box we were all supposed to be aiming at. Harry and I looked at Hermione, thinking...it was true that Snape had saved our lives once, but the odd thing was, Snape definitely loathed us, just as he'd loathed our fathers when they had been at school together. Snape loved taking points from Harry and myself, and had certainly never missed an opportunity to give us punishments, or even to suggest that we should be suspended from the school.

"I don't care what Moody says," I said, sending my own cushion after Hermione's, where it landed right on top of hers' in the box. "Dumbledore's not stupid. He was right to trust Hagrid and Professor Lupin, even though loads of people wouldn't have given them jobs, so why shouldn't he be right about Snape, even if Snape is a bit -"

" - evil," Ron said promptly. "Come on, Chey, why are all these Dark wizard catchers searching his office, then?"

"Why has Mr. Crouch been pretending to be ill?" Hermione said, ignoring Ron. "It's a bit funny, isn't it, that he can't manage to come to the Yule Ball, but he can get up here in the middle of the night when he wants to?"

"You just don't like Crouch because of that elf, Winky," Ron said, sending a cushion soaring into the window.

"_You_ just want to think Snape's up to something," Hermione said, sending her cushion zooming neatly into the box.

"We just want to know what Snape did with his first chance, if he's on his second one," Harry said grimly, and his cushion, to his great surprise, flew straight across the room and landed neatly on top of Hermione's.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Obedient to Sirius's wish of hearing about anything odd at Hogwarts, Harry and I sent him a letter by brown owl that night, explaining all about Mr. Crouch breaking into Snape's office, and Moody and Snape's conversation. Then Harry and I turned our attention in earnest to the most urgent problem facing us: how to survive underwater for an hour on the twenty-fourth of February.

Ron quite liked the idea of using the Summoning Charm again - Harry had explained about Aqua-Lungs, and Ron couldn't see why neither of us shouldn't Summon a couple from the nearest Muggle town. Hermione squashed this plan by pointing out that, in the unlikely event that Harry and I managed to learn how to operate an Aqua-Lung within the set limit of an hour, we were sure to be disqualified for breaking the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy - it was too much to hope that no Muggles would spot an Aqua-Lung zooming across the countryside to Hogwarts.

"Of course, the ideal solution would be for you both to Transfigure yourselves into a submarine or something," Hermione said. "If only we'd done human Transfiguration already! But I don't think we start that until sixth year, and it can go badly wrong if you don't know what you're doing..."

"Yeah, we don't fancy walking around with periscopes sticking out of our heads," Harry and I said. "We s'pose we could always attack someone in front of Moody; he might do it for us..."

"I don't think he'd let either of you choose what you wanted to be turned into, though," Hermione said seriously. "No, I think your best chance is some sort of charm."

So Harry, thinking that he would soon have had enough of the library to last him a lifetime, joined me in burying ourselves once more among the dusty volumes, looking for any spell that might enable a human to survive without oxygen. However, though we, Ron, and Hermione searched through our lunchtimes, evenings, and whole weekends - though Harry and I asked Professor McGonagall for a note of permission to use the Restricted Section, and even asked the irritable, vulture-like librarian, Madam Pince, for help - they found nothing whatsoever that would enable Harry or I to spend an hour underwater and live to tell the tale.

Familiar flutterings of panic were starting to disturb Harry and I now, and we were finding it difficult to concentrate in class again. The lake, which we had always taken for granted as just another feature of the grounds, drew our eyes whenever we were near a classroom window, a great, iron-gray mass of chilly water, whose dark and icy depths were starting to seem as distant as the moon.

Just as it had before we faced the Horntail, time was slipping away as though somebody had bewitched the clocks to go extra-fast. I couldn't even enjoy my birthday. Soon, there was a week to go before February the twenty-fourth (there was still time)...there were five days to go) we were bound to find something soon)...three days to go (_please let us find something...please)_...

With two days left, Harry and I started to go off food again. The only good thing about breakfast on Monday was the return of the brown owl we had sent to Sirius. We pulled off the parchment, unrolled it, and saw the shortest letter Sirius had ever written to us.

_Send date of next Hogsmeade weekend by return owl._

Harry turned the parchment over and we looked at the back, hoping to see something else, but it was blank.

"Weekend after next," Hermione whispered, who had read the note over Harry's shoulder. "Here - take my quill and send this owl back straight away."

Harry scribbled the dates down on the back of Sirius's letter, tied it onto the brown owl's leg, and watched it take flight again. What had we expected? Advice on how to survive underwater? We had been so intent on telling Sirius all about Snape and Moody we had completely forgotten to mention the egg's clue.

"What's he want to know about the next Hogsmeade weekend for?" Ron asked.

"Dunno," Harry said dully. The momentary happiness that had flared inside us at the sight of the owl had died. "Come on...Care of Magical Creatures."

Whether Hagrid was trying to make up for the Blast-Ended Skrewts, or because there were now only two skrewts left, or because he was trying to prove he could do anything that Professor Grubbly-Plank could, neither Harry nor I knew, but Hagrid had been continuing her lessons on unicorns ever since he'd returned to work. It turned out that Hagrid knew quite as much about unicorns as he did about monsters, though it was clear that he found their lack of poisonouos fangs disappointing.

Today he had managed to capture two unicorn foals. Unlike full-grown unicorns, they were pure gold. Parvati and Lavender went into transports of delight at the sight of them, and even Pansy Parkinson had to work hard to conceal how much she liked them.

"Easier ter spot than the adults," Hagrid told the class. "They turn silver when they're abou' two years old, an' they grow horns at aroun' four. Don' go pure white till they're full grown, 'round about seven. They're a bit more trustin' when they're babies...don' mind boys so much...C'mon, move in a bit, yeh can pat 'em if yeh want...give 'em a few o' these sugar lumps...

"You okay, Harry, Cheyenne?" Hagrid muttered, moving aside slightly, while most of the others swarmed around the baby unicorns.

"Yeah..." Harry and I said.

"Jus' nervous, eh?" Hagrid said.

"Bit," Harry said.

"Harry, Cheyenne," Hagrid said, clapping a massive hand on each of our shoulders, so that our knees buckled under their weight. "I'd've bin worried before I saw both of yeh take on tha' Horntail, but I know now yeh can do anythin' yeh set yer minds ter. I'm not worried at all. Yeh're both goin' ter be fine. Got yer clue worked out, haven' yeh?"

Harry and I nodded, but even as we did so, an insane urge to confess that we didn't have any idea how to survive at the bottom of the lake for an hour came over us. We looked up at Hagrid - perhaps he had to go into the lake sometimes, to deal with the creatures in it? He looked after everything else on the grounds, after all -

"Yeh're both goin' ter win," Hagrid growled, patting our shoulders again, so that we both actually felt ourselves sink a couple of inches into the soft ground. "I know it. I can feel it. _Yeh're both goin' ter win, Harry, Cheyenne."_

Neither of us could bring ourselves to wipe the happy, confident smile off Hagrid's face. Pretending we were interested in the young unicorns, we each forced a smile in return, and moved forward to pat them with the others.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the evening before the second task, Harry and I felt as though we were trapped in a nightmare. We were fully aware that even if, by some miracle, we managed to find a suitable spell, we'd have a real job mastering it overnight. How could we have let this happen? Why hadn't we got to work on the egg's clue sooner? Why had we ever let our minds wander in class at times - what if a teacher had once mentioned how to breathe underwater?

We sat with Hermione and Ron in the library as the sun set outside, tearing feverishly through page after page of spells, hidden from one another by the massive piles of books on the desk in front of each of us. My heart leapt every time I saw the word "water" on a page, but more often than not it was merely "Take two pints of water, half a pound of shredded mandrake leaves, and a newt..."

"I don't reckon it can be done," Ron's voice said flatly from the other side of the table. "There's nothing. _Nothing._ Closest was that thing to dry up puddles and ponds, that Drought Charm, but that was nowhere near powerful enough to drain the lake."

"There must be something," Hermione muttered, and I saw a candle near me shift toward where her she was hidden. I yawned, scratching at my eyes tiredly, trying to stay focused on the open book in front of me. "They'd never have set a task that was undoable."

"They have," Ron said. "Harry, Chey, just go down to the lake tomorrow, right, stick your heads in, yell at the merpeople to give back whatever they've nicked, and see if they chuck it out. Best either of you can do."

"There's a way of doing it!" Hermione said crossly. "There just has to be!"

She seemed to be taking the library's lack of useful information on the subject as a personal insult; it had never failed her before.

"I know what we should have done," Harry and I said, each with a sigh. "We should've learned to be an Animagi like Sirius."

Animagi were witches or wizards who could transform into animals.

"Yeah, you both could've turned into goldfish any time you wanted!" Ron said.

"Or frogs," Harry yawned. We were exhausted.

"It takes years to become Animagus, and then you have to register yourselves and everything," Hermione said vaguely. "Professor McGonagall told us, remember...you've got to register yourself with the Improper Use of Magic Office...what animal you become, and your markings, so you can't abuse it..."

"Hermione, we were joking," Harry said wearily. "Chey and I know we haven't got a chance of turning into frogs by tomorrow morning..."

"Oh this is no use," Hermione said, snapping a book shut, making me jump. "Who on earth wants to make their nose hair grow into ringlets?"

"I wouldn't mind," Fred's voice said suddenly. "Be a talking point, wouldn't it?"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I looked up. Fred and George had just emerged from behind some bookshelves. Fred kissed the top of my head and I smiled at him.

"What're you two doing here?" Ron asked.

"Looking for you," George said. "McGonagall wants you, Ron. And you, Hermione. Fred needs to go too, but I promised to help him find you first."

"Why?" Hermione said, looking surprised.

"Dunno...she was looking a bit grim, though," Fred said.

"The three of you are supposed to go down to her office," George said.

Ron and Hermione stared at Harry and I, both of whom felt our stomachs drop. Was Professor McGonagall about to tell Ron and Hermione off? Perhaps she'd noticed how much they were helping us, when we ought to be working out how to do the task alone? And...why on earth did she want Fred down there, too?

"We'll meet you both back in the common room," Hermione told Harry and I as she got up to go with Ron - both of them looked very anxious. "Bring as many of these books as you both can, okay?"

"Right," Harry and I said uneasily. Fred brushed the back of his hand against my cheek and left with them.

I remained in the library with Harry until seven-thirty, when the anxiousity for Fred, Ron, and Hermione was too much, and around the time Madam Prince had begun extinguishing the lamps. Saying I was going on ahead to make sure they were all right, I checked out as many books as I could carry and left Harry for the Gryffindor common room. He didn't argue, nor did he say anything about my concern for Fred, which I was grateful for since I wasn't in much of a mood to deal with anything like that. Once in there, I pulled a table into the corner wher Harry and I would be working once he returned so we could continue to search, and I glanced about the room, my eyes scanning each of the groups of students, but neither Ron, Hermione, nor Fred were in sight. I didn't even see Fred in the group closest to the fire, where George was sitting, talking quietly with Lee Jordan. Anxiousity rising, I left the table to check my dormitory. Lavender and Parvati were there, getting ready for bed, but Hermione wasn't anywhere. I asked them if they seen her, but they said they hadn't since dinner. I retreated to the common room once more with an absentminded thank you, chewing my bottom lip. What could be going on?

"Cheyenne? Are you all right?"

The sudden voice jolted me from my thoughts and I found myself starting into the round, childish face of Neville Longbottom. He was peering nervously over the book laden table at me, which I'd realized I'd reached without really knowing where my legs had taken me. Giving myself a good mental shake, I smiled weakly up at him, nodding.

"I'm fine Neville, thanks." I said with a sigh, pushing some bangs from my eyes and looking down at the books spread out on the table in front of me, remembering why I had them there in the first place. Neville gave a gentle sigh of relief, then cocked his head curiously to the side, picking up one of the books.

"What's with all the books? Are you doing a report on charms?" he asked. I shook my head, leaning it against the back of my hand. "No...Harry and I need to find a way to breathe underwater for an hour. The second task takes place in the lake tomorrow." I said, flicking open one of the books absentmindedly. Neville looked surprised.

"Really? I think I know of a magical herb that can help you. I found it in that book Professor Moody lent me. _Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean._"

My eyes widened and recollection of the book came crashing down upon me. _Of course!_ I thought. _Why hadn't I thought about it before?! Neville's good at Herbology and could have very well helped us find something that could help Harry and I breathe underwater for an hour! Better, he had, no, still __**has, **__ a book he'd been lent by a teacher with information on magical water plants._ I leapt to my feet, excitement coursing through me, making Neville jump and drop the book back onto the table, glancing nervously at me. To his complete surprise, and mine, I threw my arms around him and hugged him tightly, "Oh Neville, you just saved my and Harry's necks, literally!" I pulled back, looking at him, "Please, can I see this book? I really, really need it before tomorrow!" I pleaded. Neville was blushing perfusely, but he nodded all the same and led the way up to his dormitory, where he pulled the book out of his trunk while I paced anxiously up and down the length of the room.

Neville knew the book better than I did and knew where to look for something that could help Harry and I with our task, so I let him flick through the pages while I continued to pace, playing with a strand of hair and looked out the window often to watch the nighttime sky.

"I think I've found something..." Neville finally said and I turned, moving over to join him on his bed. He shifted so we could sit side by side and propped the book between us, pointing to a picture of the magical plant, which looked like a bundle of slimy, grey-green rat tails growing out of a trio of large, lushous leaves. Neville read out it's description:

_Gillyweed: A magical plant native to the Mediterranean Sea. When it is eaten by a witch or wizard, one grows gills and webbing between the fingers and toes. There is some debate among Herbologists as to the duration of the effects of Gillyweed in fresh water verus salt water. Gillyweed can also be used as an ingredient in the drink, Gillywater._

"This is it, this is what Harry and I need! Although it hasn't been tested, we'll have to take a risk with it. Neville, do you know where I could find some gillyweed, inside the school? Inside Hogwarts?!" I asked, lifting my gaze to the young man, who blinked in surprise.

"Um...well...as it's a magical plant, it could be considered a part of Herbology...but then...it could also be a Potions item...so...maybe in the greenhouses or Snape's private stores?" he suggested timidly, shuddering at the thought of Snape, who was constantly tormenting and bullying him in Potions class. I knew he was anticipating me asking his help in finding the gillyweed and he was afraid I was going to ask him to go search Snape's potions store, which was ten times more dangerous than facing a mother dragon protecting her eggs. I smiled.

"Don't worry Neville, I'm not going to ask you to help me get gillyweed, I promise. You've done more than enough. I'm really grateful that you helped me find this for our next task. I owe you one. Thank you." I kissed his cheek and stood, "I need to find Harry and tell him. We'll find out where to get it ourselves. Thanks again, Neville." Dashing out of the dormitory, I hurried back down to the dormitory, waving good-bye to Neville as I went. Thankfully, Harry was already in the common room, waiting.

Having taken a spot at the table in the corner, Harry was flicking through random books, still looking through the ones he'd brought back from the library. The library usually closed at eight o'clock. Crookshanks was curled up in Harry's lap, purring deeply, and I was surprised to see they were the only ones in the common room now. I hadn't thought Neville had been looking through that book for long, but it happened that it'd been four hours since I'd followed him upstairs to look at his book. It was ten minutes to midnight now and everyone else had already gone up to bed for the night. I hadn't even noticed any of the other boys come up while I was with Neville...this tournament was really wearing me out.

Harry was looking crest-fallen as I approached and I knew he probably hadn't found anything to help us with the next task.

However, he suddenly stood, evidently forgetting Crookshanks was in his lap. The cat hissed angrily as he landed on the floor, gave Harry a disgusted look, and stalked away with his bottlebrush tail in the air, but Harry was already hurrying up the spiral staircase to his dormitory, brushing past me without so much as a second glance...He reappeared back downstairs, clutching his Invisibility Cloak.

"Harry! Wait, where are you going?!" I said frantically, grabbing his arm as he hurried across the common room. I pulled him to a halt, "Wait a minute, Harry, I need to talk to you!"

He whirled around, "What is it?! I'm kinda busy, Chey." He said, frowning down at me. "I'm trying to find a way to keep us _alive_ in this tournament! And what have you been doing? Snogging Fred again?"

I frowned, "Harry, this is no time for childish games, I need to tell yo -"

"Childish?!" he jerked his arm out of my grasp, glaring. "You think it's childish? I'm trying to keep us above water and you think it's just a _child's game?_ I would've thought you'd take this more seriously. But I guess nothing's important other than your boyfriend. I don't have time to hear any of your stories, I need to go find a way for us to survive this next task." he pulled the Invisibility Cloak on, disappearing form view and the next moment I heard the portrait hole open. I ran after, propping it open, "Harry, you don't understand! Please, come back!" I called into the dark corridors, but his footsteps only continuing to fade into the distance. I stood there, disbelief and hurt washing over me again as his words fully sank in. I couldn't let this get to me...Harry was just stressed about the tournament and was saying things because he was feeling overwelmed. I couldn't let something like this tear us apart.

Taking a deep breath, I went back into the common room. It took me several trips to get all the books upstairs and into my dormitory, where I stacked them carefully into my bedside cabinet for safe keeping. Hermione still hadn't returned, her bed lying empty and still freshly made in the quiet dormitory, small specks of moonlight dancing across the crimson blankets and neatly folded curtains. Trying not to worry, I grabbed my cloak from my trunk and slipped as quietly as I could out of the dormitory, being careful not to wake one of the others as I closed the door softly behind me and hurried back downstairs, pulling the Invisibility Cloak on over my head as I reached the common room. I was stepping through the portrait hole just seconds later and hurrying down the stairs to the entrance hall, heading for the dungeons to find the magical plant Harry and I needed for this next task. I just hoped and prayed things would go in my favor tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**(No one's P.O.V; Harry Potter)**

"Harry, you don't understand! Please, come back!" Chey's voice carried after Harry in the corridor as he hurried off, but he ignored her as he continued on, his mind set on getting to the library.

Shaking her off at the common room was hard, but it only made it harder because of the horrible things Harry had to say to throw her off his trail. Immediately after they escaped his mouth, he wanted desperately to take them back. Chey was his best friend and he hated seeing her hurt...and knowing he was the cause made him even less at ease, but he _did_ need to find a way to get them through the next task and keep them both alive. He would apologize after they passed their next task. It couldn't carry on like this.

_"Lumos,"_ Harry whispered fifteen minutes later as he'd opened the library door. He would think of this later. He needed to focus on what he was doing now.

Wand tip alight, he crept along the bookshelves, pulling down more books - books of hexes and charms, books on merpeople and water monsters, books on famous witches and wizards, on magical inventions, on anything at all that might include one passing reference to underwater survival. He carried them over to a table, then set to work, searching them by the narrow beam of his wand, occasionally checking his watch...

One in the morning...two in the morning...the only way Harry could keep going was to tell himself, over and over again, _next book...in the next one...the next one..._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The mermaid in the painting in the prefects' bathroom was laughing. Harry was bobbing like a cork in bubbly water next to her rock, while she held his Firebolt over his head. Cheyenne was passed out in the water next to him, his arm around her waist, trying to keep her head above water.

"Come and get it!' she giggled maliciously. "Come on, jump!"

"I can't," Harry panted, snatching at the Firebolt, and struggling to keep Chey and himself from sinking. "Give it to me!"

But she just poked Harry painfully in the side with the end of the broomstick, laughing at him.

"That hurts - get off - ouch!"

"Harry Potter must wake up, sir!"

"Stop poking me -"

"Dobby must poke Harry Potter, sir, he must wake up!"

Harry opened his eyes. He was still in the library; the Invisibility Cloak had slipped off his head as he'd slept, and the side of his face was stuck to the pages of _Where There's a Wand, There's a Way._ He sat up, straightening his glasses, blinking in the bright daylight.

"Harry Potter needs to hurry!" Dobby squeaked. "The second tasks starts in ten minutes, and Harry Potter -"

"Ten minutes?" Harry croaked. "Ten - _ten minutes?"_

He looked down at his watch. Dobby was right. It was twenty past nine. A large, dead weight seemed to fall through Harry's chest into his stomach.

"Hurry, Harry Potter!" Dobby squeaked, plucking at Harry's sleeve. "You is supposed to be down by the lake with the other champions, sir!"

"It's too late, Dobby," Harry said hopelessly. "I'm not doing the task, I don't know how -"

"Harry Potter _will_ do the task!" the elf squeaked. "Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power will do the task. Cheyenne knew Harry had not found the right book, so Cheyenne did it for him! Neville Longbottom, sir, he helped her!"

"What?" Harry said. "But _Neville_ doesn't know what the second task is -"

"Neville knows, sir! Cheyenne Power told him, and Dobby, too! Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power have to go into the lake and find their Weezies -"

"Find our what?"

" - and take their Wheezies back from the merpeople!"

"What're Wheezies?"

"Your Wheezies, sir, your Wheezies - Wheezies who is giving Dobby his sweater and taking her to ball!"

Dobby plucked at the shrunken maroon sweater he was now wearing over his shorts.

_"What?"_ Harry gasped. "They've got...they've got _Ron and Fred_?"

"The things Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power will miss most, sir!" Dobby squeaked. " _'But past an hour -'_ "

" - _'the prospect's black,' _" Harry recited, staring, horror-struck, at the elf. " _'Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.'_ Dobby - what've I got to do?"

"You has to eat this, sir!" the elf squeaked, and he put his hand in the pocket of his shorts and drew out a ball of what looked like slimy, grayish-green rat tails. "Right before you go into the lake, sir - gillyweed!"

"What's it do?" Harry asked, staring at the gillyweed.

"It will make Harry Potter breathe underwater, sir!"

"Dobby," Harry said frantically, "listen - are you sure about this?"

Harry couldn't quite forget that the last time Dobby had tried to 'help' him and Cheyenne, he had ended up with no bones in his right arm, and Cheyenne had taken a blow to the head that knocked her out for hours.

"Dobby is quite sure, sir!" the elf said earnestly. "Cheyenne Power finds out about it from Neville Longbottom and his book, _Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean._ She told Dobby about it and gave him some she got from Professor Snape's office! We is hearing about the next task from Professor McGonagall and Professor Moody when she is finding Dobby...Dobby cannot let Harry Potter or Cheyenne Power lose their Whezzies!"

Harry's doubts vanished. Jumping to his feet he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, stuffed it into his bag, grabbed the gillyweed, and put it into his pocket, then tore out of the library with Dobby at his heels.

"Dobby is supposed to be in the kitchens, sir!" Dobby squealed as they burst into the corridor. "Dobby will be missed - good luck, Harry Potter, sir, good luck!"

"See you later, Dobby!" Harry shouted, and he sprinted along the corridor and down the stairs, three at a time. _Of course...this __**had**__ to be what Chey was trying to tell me last night! No wonder she wasn't in the common room when I got back...she was getting help from Neville! She just wanted to tell me about the gillyweed...and I yelled at her..._ he thought sadly, hating himself for doing something like that when she was trying to help him. As soon as he could get a word in alone with her, he would apologize and patch things up again.

The entrance hall contained a few last-minute stragglers, all leaving the Great Hall after breakfast and heading through the double oak doors to watch the second task. They stared as Harry flashed past, sending Colin and Dennis Creevey flying as he leapt down the stone steps and out onto the bright, chilly grounds.

As he pounded down the lawn he saw that the seats that had encircled the dragons' enclosure in November were now ranged along the opposite bank, rising in stands that were packed to the bursting point and reflected in the lake below. The excited babble of the crowd echoed strangely across the water as Harry ran flat-out around the other side of the lake toward the judges, who were sitting at another gold-draped table at the water's edge. Cedric, Fleur, and Krum were beside the judges' table, watching Harry sprint toward them. Cheyenne was pacing nervously along the shore, chewing her bottom lip. She stopped when she saw him, however, and relief broke over her face.

"I'm...here..." Harry panted, skidding to a halt in the mud and accidentally splattering Fleur's robes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Cheyenne Power's P.O.V.)

_Thank goodness..._ I thought as I watched my best friend sprinting toward us, relief at seeing him here putting my mind at ease. _If he's here, then that means Dobby found him and gave him the gillyweed...now he'll be able to do the task..._ Last night's argument long forgotten, I was just happy to see Harry here now, ready for the next task.

"Where have you been?" the bossy, disapproving voice of Percy Weasley broke my thoughts and I mental shook myself again. "The task's about to start!" Percy was sitting at the judges' table - Mr. Crouch had failed to turn up again.

"He's here now, that's all that matters!" I said quickly, hurrying over to him. and holding his shoulders to keep him upright.

Percy opened his mouth to speak, but Ludo Bagman interrupted him. "Now, now, Percy!" he said, also looking intensely relieved to see Harry. "Cheyenne is quite right. Let the boy catch his breath!"

Dumbledore smiled at Harry and I, but Karkaroff and Madame Maxime didn't look at all pleased to see him...It was obvious from the looks on their faces that they had thought he wasn't going to turn up and I would have to do the task on my own.

Harry bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath and I rubbed his back; he was clutching a place on his side where he had a stitch, which looked quite painful, but there was no time to get rid of it; Ludo Bagman was now moving among the champions, spacing us along the bank at intervals of ten feet. I was second to last in line, between Harry and Krum, who was wearing swimming trunks and was holding his wand ready. I'd just pulled the thinnest clothes I had on as I could to make it easier to move in water and slipped a coat on to keep warm, which I pulled off now and threw a few feet behind me, pulling the gillyweed out of the right pocket and clutching it in my hand, waiting the moment to eat it. My wand was clutched tightly in my left hand.

"All right, Harry, Cheyenne?" Bagman whispered as he moved Harry and I each a few feet farther away from Krum. "Know what you're both going to do?"

"Yeah," Harry panted, massaging his ribs and looking at me. I smiled and nodded.

Bagman gave my and Harry's shoulders each a quick squeeze and returned to the judges' table; he pointed his wand at his throat as he had done at the World Cup, said, _"Sonorus!"_ and his voice boomed out across the dark water toward the stands. I took the oppurtunity to stuff the small ball of gillyweed into my mouth and start chewing, as hard and fast as I could; it felt unpleasantly slimy and rubbery, like octopus tentacles. Surpressing a shudder, I forced myself to listen to what Bagman was saying and ignore the slimy plant in my mouth, kicking off my shoes and socks as I listened. I swallowed hastily, gagging.

"Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle." Bagman was saying now and I rolled my shoulders and neck, loosening myself up. "They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One...two..._three_!"

The whistle echoed shrilly in the cold, still air. The stands erupted with cheers and applause as a sharp pain flashed through my neck. An invisible pillow was suddenly pressed over my mouth and nose. I tried to draw breath, but it made my head spin; my lungs were empty, and the piercing pain worsened on each side of my neck -

I clapped my hands around my neck and felt two large slits just below my ears, flapping in the cold air..._I had gills._ Without pausing to think, I waded into the water and dove.

The first gulp of icy lake water felt like the breath of life. My head had stopped spinning; I took another great gulp of water and felt it pass smoothly through my gills, sending oxygen back to my brain. I stretched out my hands in front of myself and stared at them. They looked green and ghostly under the water, and they had become webbed. I twisted around and looked at my bare feet - they had become elongated and the toes were webbed too; It looked as though I had sprouted flippers.

The first itital shock wore off and I twisted quickly, looking toward the surface of the water, trying to see Harry through my reflection. _There!_ He was standing waist-deep in the water just ten feet to my right, his jaw moving, chewing, what I assumed, to be the gillyweed. I could see his Adam's apple move as he swallowed and I swam closer. I could see he was waiting for something to happen, trying to ignore whatever was coming from the stands across the lake. It was very sudden -

Looking like someone had just pushed a pillow up against his face, like how I'd just felt, he was fighting to draw breath. He looked light-headed and I could see the slits opening up on either side of his neck -

I struck out, hard and kicked, shooting toward him and burst out of the water. My hands grabbed his arms and I fell back, taking him with me and I could fell water rushing through my gills once more. Harry took in a deep breath of water, looking relieved. Like me, he looked at his webbed feet and toes, then at me, blinking. I smiled.

The water felt pleasantly cool and very light...Harry and I struck out, marveling at how far and fast our flipper-like feet propelled us through the water, and noticing how clearly we could see, and how we no longer seemed to need to blink. We had soon swum so far into the lake that we could no longer see the bottom. We flipped over and dived into its depths.

Silence pressed upon our ears as we soared over a strange, dark, foggy landscape. We could only see ten feet around us, so that as we sped through the water new scenes seemed to loom suddenly out of the oncoming darkness: forest of rippling, tangled black weed, wide plains of mud littered with dull, glimmering stones. We swam deeper and deeper, out toward the middle of the lake, our eyes wide, staring through the eerily gray-lit water around us to the shadows beyond, where the water became opague.

Small fish flickered past us like silver darts. Once or twice we thought we saw something larger moving ahead of us, but when we got nearer, we discovered it to be nothing but a large, blackened log, or a dense clump of weed. There was no sign of any of the other champions, merpeople, Ron, Fred - nor, thankfully, the giant squid.

Light green weed stretched ahead of us as far as we could see, two feet deep, like a meadow of very overgrown grass. Harry and I were staring, unblinkingly ahead of us, trying to discern shapes through the gloom...and then, without warning, something grabbed hold of my leg and Harry's ankle.

Harry and I twisted our bodies around and saw a couple of grindylow, small, horned water demons, poking out of the weed, their long fingers clutched tightly around our legs, their pointed fangs bared - I raised my wand as Harry stuck his webbed hand quickly inside his robes and fumbled for his own. By the time he had grasped it and I'd blasted my grindylow away, four more had risen out of the weed, seized handfuls of my and Harry's clothes, and were attempting to drag us down.

_"Relashio!"_ Harry and I shouted, except that no sound came out...A couple of large bubbles issued from our mouths, and our wands, instead of sending sparks at the grindylows, pelting them with what seemed to jets of boiling water, for where it struck them, angry red patches appearing on their green skin. Harry and I pulled our legs out of the grindylows' grip and swam, as fast as we could, occasionally sending more jets of hot water over our shoulders at random; every now and then we felt one of the grindylows snatch at our feet again, and we kicked out, hard; finally, we felt our feet connect with a couple of horned skulls, and looking back, saw the dazed grindylows floating away, cross-eyed, while their fellows shook their fists at Harry and I and sank back into the weed.

Harry and I slowed down a litte, slipped our wands back inside our robes, and looked around, listening again. We turned full circle in the water, the silence pressing harder than ever against our eardrums. We knew we must be even deeper in the lake now, but nothing was moving but the rippling weed.

"How are you both getting on?"

My heart almost stopped right then and there. We whipped around, Harry pushing me behind him, and we saw Moaning Myrtle floating hazily in front of us, gazing at us through her thick, pearly glasses.

"Myrtle!" Harry tried to shout - but once again, nothing came out of his mouth but a very large bubble. Moaning Myrtle actually giggled.

"You'll want to try over there!" she said, pointing. "I won't come with you...I don't like them much, they always chase me when I get too close..."

Harry gave her the thumbs-up to show his thanks and we set off once more, careful to swim a bit higher over the weed to avoid any more grindylows that might be lurking there.

We swam on for what felt like at least twenty minutes. We were passing over vast expanses of black mud now, which swirled murkily as we disturbed the water. Then, at long last, we heard a snatch of haunting mersong.

_'An hour long you'll have to look,_

_And to recover what we took...'_

Harry and I swam faster and soon saw a large rock emerge out of the muddy water ahead. It had paintings of merpeople on it. They were carrying spears and chasing what looked like the giant squid. Harry and I swam on past the rock, following the mersong.

_'...your time's half gone, so tarry not_

_Lest what you seek stays here to rot...'_

A cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae loomed suddenly out of the gloom on all sides. Here and there at the dark windows, Harry and I saw faces...faces that bore no resemblance at all to the painting of the mermaid in the prefects' bathroom...

The merpeople had grayish skin and long, wild, dark green hair. Their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth, and they wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks. They leered at us as we swam past; one or two of them emerged from their caves to watch us better, their powerful, silver fish tails beating the water, spears clutched in their hands.

Harry grasped my hand and we sped on, staring around, and soon the dwellings became more numerous; there were gardens of weed around some of them, and we even saw a pet grindylow tied to a stake outside one door. Merpeople were emerging on all sides now, watching us eagerly, pointing at our webbed hands and gills, talking behind their hands to one another. Harry and I sped around a corner and a very strange sight met our eyes.

A whole crowd of merpeople was floating in front of the houses that lined what looked like a mer-version of a village square. A choir of merpeople was singing in the middle, calling the champions toward them, and behind them rose a crude sort of statue; a gigantic merperson hewn from a boulder. Five people were bound tightly to the tail of the stone merperson.

Ron and Fred were tied between Hermione and Cho Chang. There was also a girl who looked no older than eight, whose clouds of silvery hair made Harry and I feel sure that she was Fleur Delacour's sister. All five of them appeared to be in a very deep sleep. Their heads were lolling onto their shoulders, and fine streams of bubbles kept issuing from their mouths.

Harry and I sped toward the hostages, half expecting the merpeople to lower their spears and charge at us, but they did nothing. The ropes of weed tying the hostages to the statue were thick, slimy, and very strong. For a fleeting second we thought of the knife Sirius had bought Harry for Christmas - locked in his trunk in the castle a quarter of a mile away, no use to either of us whatsoever.

We looked around. Many of the merpeople surrounding them were carrying spears. We swam swiftly toward a seven-foot-tall merman with a long green beard and a choker of shark fangs and tried to mime a request to borrow the spear. The merman laughed and shook his head.

"We do not help," he said in a harsh, croaky voice.

"Come _ON!"_ I read from Harry's lips as bubbles left his mouth again, and he tried to pull the spear away from the merman, but the merman yanked it back, still shaking his head and laughing.

I swirled around, staring about. Something sharp...anything...

There were rocks littering the lake bottom. I pointed them out to Harry and we dived and snatched up a couple of particularly jagged ones and returned to the statue. We began to hack at the ropes binding Ron and Fred and after several minutes' hard work, they broke apart. Ron and Fred floated, unconscious, a few inches above the lake bottom, drifting a little in the ebb of the water.

Harry and I looked around. There was no sign of any of the other champions. What were they playing at? Why didn't they hurry up? We turned back to Hermione and Cho, raised the jagged rocks, and began to hack at their bindings too -

At once, several pairs of strong gray hands seized us. Half a dozen merman were pulling us away from Hermione and Cho, shaking their green-haired heads, and laughing.

"You take your own hostages," one of them said to us. "Leave the others..."

"No way!" Harry mouthed furiously - but only two large bubbles came out.

"Your task is to retrieve your own friends...leave the others..."

_"She's_ our friend too!" I yelled, gesturing toward Hermione; an enormous silver bubble emerged soundlessly from my lips. "And we don't want _them_ to die either!"

Cho's head was on Hermione's shoulder; the small silver-haired girl was ghostly green and pale. Harry and I struggled to fight off the merman, but they laughed harder than ever, holding us back. Harry pushed a few back and got between me and them, glaring. I looked wildly around. Where were the other champions? Would we have time to take Ron and Fred to the surface and come back down for Hermione and the others? Would we be able to find them again? We looked down at his watch to see how much time was left - it had stopped working.

But then the merpeople around us pointed excitedly over our head. Harry and I looked up and saw Cedric swimming toward us. There was an enormous bubble around his head, which made his features look oddly wide and stretched.

"Got lost!" he mouthed, looking panic-striken. "Fleur and Krum're coming now!"

Feeling enormously relieved, Harry and I watched Cedric pull a knife out of his pocket and cut Cho free. He pulled her upward and out of sight.

Harry and I looked around, waiting. Where were Fleur and Krum? Time was getting short, and according to the song, the hostages would be lost after an hour...

The merpeople started screeching animatedly. Those holding Harry and I loosened their grip, staring behind them. Harry and I turned and saw something monstrous cutting through the water toward us: a human body in swimming trunks with the head of a shark...It was Krum. He appeared to have transfigured himself - but badly.

The shark-man swam straight to Hermione and began snapping and biting her ropes; the trouble was that Krum's new teeth were positioned very awkwardly for biting anything smaller than a dolphin, and Harry and I were quite sure that if Krum wasn't careful, he was going to rip Hermione in half. Pushing some merman aside, I darted forward, hitting Krum hard on the shoulder and held up the jagged stone. Krum seized it and began to cut Hermione free. Within seconds, he had done it; he grabbed Hermione around the waist, and without a backward glance, began to rise rapidly with her toward the surface.

_Now what?_ Harry and I thought desperately, looking at each other. If we could be sure that Fleur was coming...But still no sign. There was nothing to be done except...

I snatched up the stone, which Krum had dropped, but the merman now closed in around Ron, Fred, and the little girl, shaking their heads at us. Harry pulled out his wand.

"Get out of the way!"

Only bubble flew out of his mouth, but we had the distinct impression that the merman had understood him, because they suddenly stopped laughing. Their yellowish eyes were fixed upon Harry's wand, and they looked scared. There might be a lot more of them than there were of us, but Harry and I could tell, by the looks on their faces, that they knew no more magic than the giant squid did.

"You've got until three!" Harry mouthed; a great stream of bubbles burst from him, but he held up three fingers to make sure they got the message. "One..." (he put down a finger) "two..." (he put down a second one) -

They scattered. I darted forward and began to hack at the ropes binding the small girl to the statue, Harry right beside me, and at last she was free. We each seized the little girl around the waist, he grabbed the neck of Ron's robes, I wrapped my free arm around Fred's torso, and we kicked off from the bottom.

It was very slow work. Neither of us could use our webbed hands to propel ourselves forward; we each worked our flippers furiously, but Fred, Ron, and Fleur's sister were like potato-filled sacks dragging us back down...We fixed our eyes skyward, though we knew we must still be very deep, the water above us was so dark...

Merpeople were rising with us. We could see them swirling around us with ease, watching us struggle through the water...Would they pull us back down to the depths when the time was up? Did they perhaps eat humans? My legs were seizing up with the effort to keep swimming; my shoulders were aching horribly with the effort of dragging Fred and the girl...

I was starting to draw breath with difficulty. I could feel sharp pain on either side of my neck again...I was becoming very aware of how wet the water was in my mouth...yet the darkness was definitely thinning now...I could see daylight above us...

I kicked hard with my flippers, but now, they were nothing more than feet...water flooded through my mouth into my lungs...A rush of dizziness washed over me, but I knew light and air was only ten feet above us...we had to get there...we had to...

Harry and I kicked our legs so hard and fast it felt as though our muscles were screaming in protest; my brain felt waterlogged, I couldn't breath, I needed oxygen, we both needed oxygen, we had to keep going, we couldn't stop -

And then we felt our heads break the surface of the lake; wonderful, cold, clear air was making our wet faces sting; we gulped it down, feeling as though we had never breathed properly before, and, panting, pulling Ron, the little girl, and Fred up with us. All around us, wild, green-haired heads were emerging out of the water with us, but they were smiling at us.

The crowd in the stands was making a great deal of noise; shouting and screaming, they all seemed to be on their feet; Harry and I had the impression they thought that Fred, Ron, and the little girl might be dead, but they were wrong...all three of them had opened their eyes; the girl looked scared and confused, but Ron and Fred both merely expelled a couple of great spouts of water, blinked in the bright light, turned to Harry and I, and said, "Wet, this, isn't it?" Then, Ron spotted Fleur's sister. "What did you two bring her for?"

"Fleur didn't turn up, we couldn't leave her," Harry panted.

"Harry, you prat," Fred said, "neither of you took that song thing seriously, did you? Dumbledore wouldn't have let any of us drown!"

"The song said -"

"It was only to make sure you got back inside the time limit!" Fred said, grinning. "I hope neither of you wasted time down there acting the heros!"

Harry and I looked at each other, feeling both stupid and annoyed. It was all very well for Ron and Fred; _they'd_ been asleep, they hadn't felt how eerie it was down in the lake, surrounded by spear-carrying merpeople who'd looked more than capable of murder.

"C'mon," Harry said shortly, "help us with her, neither of us think she can swim very well."

Fred and Ron helped pull Fleur's sister through the water, back toward the bank where the judges stood watching, twenty merpeople accompanying us like a guard of honor, singing their horrible screechy songs.

Harry and I could see Madam Pomfrey fussing over Hermione, Krum, Cedric, and Cho, all of whom were wrapped in thick blankets. Dumbledore and Ludo Bagman stood beaming at Harry, Ron, Fred, and I from the bank as we swam nearer, but Percy, who looked very white and somehow much younger than usual, came splashing out to meet us. Meanwhile, Madame Maxime was trying to restrain Fleur Delacour, who was quite hysterical, fighting tooth and nail to return to the water.

"Gabrielle! _Gabrielle! Is she alive? Is she 'urt?"_

"She's fine!" Harry and I tried to tell her, but we were both so exhausted we could hardly talk, let alone shout.

Percy seized Ron and was dragging him back to the bank, calling back to Fred ("Gerroff, Percy, I'm all right!"); Dumbledore and Bagman were pulling Harry upright, Fred helping me to my feet; Fleur had broken free of Madame Maxime and was hugging her sister.

"It was ze grindylows...zey attacked me...oh Gabrielle, I thought...I thought..."

"Come here, you two," Madam Pomfrey said. She seized Harry and I and pulled us over to Hermione and the others, wrapped us so tightly in a couple of blankets that we felt as though we were in straightjackets, and forced a measure of very hot potion down each of our throats. Steam gushed out of our ears. Fred was right behind us.

"Harry, Chey, well done!" Hermione cried. "You both did it, you found out how all by yourselves -"

"Well -" I said, looking at Harry. I would have told her about Neville and Dobby, but we had just noticed Karkaroff watching us. He was the only judge who had not left the table; the only judge not showing signs of pleasure and relief that Harry, Ron, Fred, Fleur's sister, and I had got back safely. "Yeah, that's right," Harry finished quickly, raising his voice slightly so that Karkaroff could hear him.

"You haff a water beetle in your hair, Herm-own-ninny," Krum said. Harry and I had the impression that Krum was drawing her attention back onto himself; perhaps to remind her that he had just rescued her from the lake, but Hermione brushed away the beetle impatiently and said, "You're both well outside the time limit, though, Harry, Chey...Did it take you ages to find us?"

"No...we found you okay..."

My and Harry's feelings of stupidity were growing. Now that we were out of the water, it seemed perfectly clear that Dumbledore's safety precautions wouldn't have permitted the death of a hostage just because their champion hadn't turned up. Why hadn't we just grabbed Ron and Fred and gone? We would have been first back...Cedric and Krum hadn't wasted time worrying about anyone else; they hadn't taken the mersong seriously...

Dumbledore was crouching at the water's edge, deep in conversation with what seemed to be the chief merperson, a particularly wild and ferocious-looking female. He was making the same sort of screechy noises that the merpeople made when they were above water; clearly, Dumbledore could speak Mermish. Finally he straightened up, turning to his fellow judges, and said, "A conference before we give the marks, I think."

The judges went into a huddle. Madam Pomfrey had gone to rescue Ron from Percy's clutches; she led him over to Harry, myself, and the others, gave him a blanket and some Pepperup Potion, then went to fetch Fleur and her sister. Fleur had many cuts on her face and arms and her robes were torn, but she didn't seem to care, nor would she allow Madam Pomfrey to clean them.

"Look after Gabrielle," she told her, and then she turned to Harry and I. "You saved 'er," she said breathlessly. "Even though she was neither of your 'ostages."

"Yeah," Harry and I said, now heartily wishing we'd left all three girls tied to the statue.

Fleur bent down, kissing Harry twice on each cheek, then did the same to me. I could felt embarressment flood through me. More steam was bellowing out of Harry's ears. Then, she said to Ron and Fred, "And you two - you 'elped -"

"Yeah," Ron said, looking extremely hopeful, "yeah, a bit -"

Fleur swooped down on him and Fred too and kissed them. Hermione looked simply furious and irritation worked through me, but just then, Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice boomed out beside us, making us all jump, and causing the crowds in the stands to go very quiet.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached out decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows...

"Fleur Delacour, though demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

Applause from the stands.

"I deserved zero," Fleur said throatily, shaking her magnificent head.

"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour." Enormous cheers from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd; I saw Cho give Cedric a glowing look and Harry looked depressed. "We therefore award him forty-seven points."

My heart sank. If Cedric had been outside the time limit, Harry and I most certainly had been.

"Viktor Krum used an imcomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points."

Karkaroff clapped particularly hard, looking very superior.

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power used gillyweed to great effect," Bagman continued. "They returned later, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter and Miss Power were first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in their return was due to their determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely their own."

Ron and Hermione both gave Harry and I half-exasperated, half-commiserating looks. Fred was grinning teasily.

"Most of the judges," and here, Bagman gave Karkaroff a very nasty look, "feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However...Mr. Potter and Miss Power's combined score is forty-five points.

My heart leapt - we were now tying for first place with _Cedric._ Before I knew what I was doing, I threw my arms around Harry with a loud sigh of relief and my lips collided with his for the briefest of seconds. In just that one second, I felt my body come alive with electricity, starting from the point where our lips met and working all the way to the crown of my head and the tips of my toes. Heat rushed through me, my heart fluttered, becoming lighter and lighter until it felt like it was about to fly right up my throat and out of my mouth. Nothing in the world could even compare with what I was feeling now, not even anything I'd felt previously with Fred. None of our kisses could compare...I jerked away from Harry, suddenly afraid, breaking contact and I could see him staring, wide-eyed at me, a stunned/disbeliving look on his face as though he couldn't believe that had actually happened.

Suddenly, someone grabbed me happily from behind in a tight hug. I could see Ron and Hermione, caught by surprise, staring at us, then they laughed and started applauding hard with the rest of the crowd. Fred was laughing heartily behind me.

"There you go, Harry, Chey!" Ron shouted over the noise. "Neither of you were being thick after all - you were showing moral fiber!"

Fleur was clapping very hard too, but Krum didn't look happy at all. He attempted to engage Hermione in conversation again, but she was too busy cheering Harry and I to listen.

"The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June," Bagman continued. "The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions."

It was over, I thought dazedly, as Madam Pomfrey began herding the champions and hostages back to the castle to get into dry clothes...it was over, we had got through...we didn't have to worry about anything now until June the twenty-fourth...

As soon as we were in the entrance hall, Harry pulled me to the side, far enough where none of the other's could hear. Before he could speak, I blurted out, "Harry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that...I was just so happy that we go such high points..." I said, my face warming significantly. He turned red, but brushed that off.

"No, I understand, accidents happen...I just wanted to say..._I'm_ sorry for how I've been acting the last couple of months...I was a jerk. I just saw you at the Yule Ball with Fred and...although I knew you'd been dating for a while, it just...it never really fully registered until I saw you two dancing and having so much fun. I was just jealous...and a little afraid...that you wouldn't want to hang out anymore now that you have a boyfriend..." he said, scratching at the back of his neck, looking down at his shoes. I blinked in surprise, but smiled gently and hooked a finger under his chin, lifting his face up so our eyes connected once more.

"Harry, you'll have to understand. You are my best friend and you have been since the day you first drew breath. There is nothing on this earth that could change that. Just because I get a boyfriend doesn't mean I won't want to spend time with you anymore. I'll find time to spend with you and Fred equally. All right?" I whispered. He smiled weakly and nodded. We continued following the group up the marble staircase. Harry suddenly grinned widely.

"Hey Chey," he said and I looked at him curiously, cocking my head slightly to the side in question. "Next time we're in Hogsmeade, we need to remember to get Dobby a pair of socks for every day of the year." he said. We laughed in agreement the rest of the way upstairs.


	27. Padfoot Returns

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry it took so long for me to update, but school got crazy and I had less time to write this up, but I finally managed. I hope you'll all like these new chapters.**

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Padfoot Returns**

One of the best things about the aftermath of the second task was that everybody was very keen to hear details of what had happened down in the lake, which meant that Ron was getting to share my and Harry's limelight for once. Harry and I noticed that Ron's version of events changed subtly with every retelling. Even Fred was encouraging it, in small bits and pieces. At first, they gave what seemed to be the truth; it tallied with Hermione's story, anyway - Dumbledore had put all the hostages into a bewitched sleep in Professor McGonagall's office, first assuring them that they would be quite safe, and would awake when they were back above the water. One week later, however, Ron was telling a thrilling tale of kidnap in which he struggled single-handedly against fifty heavily armed merpeople who had to beat him into submission before tying him up.

"But I had my wand hidden up my sleeve," he assured Padma Patil, who seemed to be a lot keener on Ron now that he was getting so much attention and was making a point of talking to him every time they passed in the corridors. "I could've taken those mer-idiots any time I wanted."

"What were you going to do, snore at them?" Hermione said waspishly. People had been teasing her so much about being the thing that Viktor Krum would most miss that she was in a rather tetchy mood.

Ron's ears went red, and thereafter, he reverted to the bewitched sleep version of events.

As we entered March the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned our hands and faces every time we went out onto the grounds. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being blown off course. The brown owl Harry and I had sent to Sirius with the dates of the Hogsmeade weekend turned up at breakfast on Friday morning with half its feathers sticking up the wrong way; Harry had no sooner torn off Sirius's reply than it took flight, clearly afraid it was going to be sent outside again.

Sirius's letter was almost as short as the previous one.

_Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) at two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can._

"He hasn't come back to Hogsmeade?" Ron said incredulously.

"It looks like it, doesn't it?" Hermione said.

"I can't believe him," Harry said tensely, "if he's caught..."

"Made it so far, though, hasn't he?" I said softly. "And it's not like the place is swarming with dementors anymore."

Harry folded up the letter, thinking. If we were honest with ourselves, we really wanted to see Sirius again. We therefore approached the final lesson of the afternoon - double Potions - feeling considerably more cheerful than we usually did when descending the steps to the dungeons.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in a huddle outside the classroom door with Pansy Parkinson's gang of Slytherin girls. All of them were looking at something neither Harry nor I could see and sniggering heartily. Pansy's pug-like face peered excitedly around Goyle's broad back as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I approached.

'There they are, there they are!" she giggled, and the knot of Slytherins broke apart. Harry and I saw that Pansy had a magazine in her hands - _Witch Weekly._ The moving picture on the front showed a curly-haired witch who was smiling toothily and pointing at a large sponge-cake with her wand.

"You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!" Pansy said loudly, and she threw the magazine at Hermione,who caught it, startled. At that moment, the dungeon door opened, and Snape beckoned us all inside.

Hermione, Harry, Ron, and I headed for a table at the back of the dungeon as usual. Once Snape had turned his back on us to write up the ingredients of today's potion on the blackboard, Hermione and I hastily rifled through the magazine under the desk. At last, in the center pages, Hermione and I found what we were looking for. Harry and Ron leaned in closer. A color photograph of Harry headed a short piece entitled:

**Harry Potter's Secret Heartache**

A boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, _writes Rita Skeeter_. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss.

Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl."

However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interest.

"She's really ugly," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, "but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it."

Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart on a worthier candidate, maybe someone he's always known.

"I told you!" Ron hissed at Hermione as she stared down at the article. "I _told_ you not to annoy Rita Skeeter! She's made you out to be some sort of - of scarlet woman!"

Hermione stopped looking astonished and snorted with laughter. _"Scarlet woman?"_ she repeated, shaking with suppressed giggles as she looked around at Ron.

"It's what my mum calls them," Ron muttered, his ears going red.

"If that's the best Rita can do, she's losing her touch," Hermione said, still giggling, as she threw _Witch Weekly_ onto the empty chair beside her. "What a pile of old rubbish."

She looked over at the Slytherins, who were all watching her and Harry closely across the room to see if they had been upset by the article. Strangely, the article had left me feeling hollow inside, but I wondered if I'd just felt jealous at the thought of him being with someone else, like he'd been when he'd seen me with Fred, but I tried to push it away. It wasn't like that, it was just an article. Hermione was smiling sarcastically now and she waved at the Slytherins still watching her and Harry. She, Harry, Ron, and I started unpacking the ingredients we would need for our Wit-Sharpening Potion.

"There's something funny, though," Hermione said ten minutes later, holding her pestle suspended over a bowl of scarab beetles. "How could Rita Skeeter have known...?"

"Known what?" Ron said quickly. "You _haven't_ been mixing up Love Potions, have you?"

"Don't be stupid," Hermione snapped, starting to pound up her beetles again. "No, it's just...how did she know Viktor asked me to visit him over the summer?"

Hermione blushed scarlet as she said this and determindedly avoided Ron's eyes.

"What?" Ron said, dropping his pestle with a cloud clunk.

"He asked me right after he'd pulled me out of the lake," she muttered. "After he'd got rid of his shark's head. Madam Pomfrey gave us both blankets and then he sort of pulled me away from the judges so they wouldn't hear, and he said, if I wasn't doing anything over the summer, would I like to -"

"And what did you say?" Ron said, who had picked up his pestle and was grinding it on the desk, a good six inches from his bowl, because he was looking at Hermione.

"And he _did_ say he'd never felt the same way about anyone else," Hermione went on, going so red now that Harry and I could almost feel the heat coming from her, "but how could Rita Skeeter have heard him? She wasn't there...or was she? Maybe she _has_ got an Invisibility Cloak; maybe she sneaked onto the grounds to watch the seconds task..."

"And what did you say?" Ron repeated, pounding his pestle down so hard that it dented the desk. I snatched it away from him, "You'll get detention for damaging school property." I whispered, putting it down on the desk next to his bowl.

"Well, I was too busy seeing whether you, Harry, Chey, and Fred were okay to -"

"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger," an icy voice said right behind us, and all four of us jumped, "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Snape had glided over to our desk while we were talking. The whole class was now looking around at us; Malfoy took the opportunity to flash _POWTER STINKS_ across the dungeon at Harry and I.

"Ah...reading magazines under the table as well?" Snape added, snatching up the copy of _Witch Weekly_. "A further ten points from Gryffindor...oh but of course..." Snape's black eyes flittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter's article. "Potter has to keep up with his and Power's press cuttings..."

The dungeon rang with the Slytherins' laughter, and an unpleasant smile curled Snape's thin mouth. To my and Harry's fury, he began to read the article aloud.

" _'Harry Potter's Secret Heartache'_...dear, dear, Potter, what's ailing you now? _'A boy like no other, perhaps...'_ "

Harry's face had turned a glowing fire color. Snape was pausing at the end of every sentence to allow the Slytherins a hearty laugh. The article sounded ten times worse when read by Snape. Even Hermione was blushing scarlet now.

" _'...Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate, __**maybe someone he's always known**__.'_ My, my, they even drag Power into the article, how...charming..." Snape sneered, rolling up the magazine to continued gales of laughter from the Slytherins. Heat rushed up my neck and filled my face from chin to crown. "Well, I think I had better separate the four of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than on your tangled love lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Parkinson. Since I'll have to watch you two closely, Potter, Power, up to that empty table in front of my desk. Move. Now."

Thoroughly embarressed and irritated, Harry and I threw our ingredients and bags into our cauldrons and dragged them up to the front of the dungeon to the empty table. Snape followed, sat down at his desk and watched Harry and I unload our cauldrons. Determined not to look at Snape, we resumed the mashing of our scarab beetles, imagining each one to have Snape's face.

"All this press attention seems to have inflated both your already overlarge heads, Potter, Power," Snape said quietly, once the rest of the class had settled down again.

Neither Harry nor I answered. We knew Snape was trying to provoke us; he had done this before. No doubt he was hoping for an excuse to take a round fifty points from Gryffindor before the end of the class.

"You both might be laboring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you," Snape went on, so quietly that no one else could hear him (Harry continued to pound his scarab beetles, even though he had already reduced them to a very fine powder and I added mine to my potion), "but I don't care how many times your pictures appaer in the paper. To me, Potter, Power, neither of you are anything but nasty little children who considers rules to be beneath them."

Harry had just put his powdered beetles into his cauldron and I slid him his cutting knife to begin cutting his ginger roots. I was angry, but I tried not to allow it to interfer with my potion, keeping my hand as steady as possible as I chopped up the roots in front of me. I kept my focus on what I was doing now, pretending I couldn't hear what Snape was saying to us.

"So I give you both fair warning, Potter, Power," Snape continued in a softer and more dangerous voice, "pint-sized celebrities or not - if I catch either of you breaking into my office one more time -"

"We haven't been anywhere near your office!" Harry said angrily, a protective edge in his tone. I looked up, frowning.

"Don't lie to me," Snape hissed, his fathomless black eyes boring into Harry's. "Boomslang skin. Gillyweed. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them."

Harry stared back at Snape, obviously determined not to blink or to look guilty. I shivered uncomfortably and bit the inside of my cheek. In truth, I'd only stolen one of these things from Snape. Hermione had taken the boomslang skin back in our second year - we had needed it for the Polyjuice Potion - and while Snape had suspected Harry and I at the time, he had never been able to prove it. I, of course, had stolen the gillyweed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry lied coldly.

"You were both out of bed on the night my office was broken into!" Snape hissed. "I know it, Powter! Now, Mad-Eye Moody might have joined your fan club, but I will not tolerate either of your behavior! One more nighttime stroll into my office, Powter, and you'll both pay!"

"Right," Harry said coolly, turning back to his ginger roots. "Chey and I'll bear that in mind if we ever get the urge to go in there."

Snape's eyes flashed. He plunged a hand into the inside of his black robes. For one wild moment, Harry and I thought Snape was about to pull out his wand and curse us - Harry's arm flashed out in front of me and he leapt to his feet - then we saw that Snape had drawn out a small crystal bottle of a completely clear potion. Harry and I stared at it. Fear slithered through me.

"Do either of you know what this is, Powter?" Snape asked, his eyes flittering dangerously again.

"No/Yes..." Harry and I said together, both with complete honesty. Snape raised his eyebrows at me.

"It's Veritaserum - a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have us spilling our innermost secrets for this entire class to hear," I said fearfully. "The use of this potion is controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines." I said, glaring at Snape. "The Ministry would have your slimy head if you used it on us."

Snape sneered, "Ah, but unless you both watch your steps, you might just find that my hand _slips_" - he shook the crystal bottle slightly - "right over both your evening pumpkin juice. And then, Powter...then we'll find out whether either of you've been in my office or not."

Neither Harry nor I said anything. We turned back to our ginger roots once more, picked up our knives, and started slicing them again. We didn't like the thought of that Truth Potion at all, nor would we put it past Snape to slip us some. We each repressed a shudder at the thought of what might come spilling out of our mouths if Snape did it...quite apart from landing a whole lot of people in trouble - Hermione and Dobby for a start - there were all the other things we were concealing...like the fact that we were in contact with Sirius...and - my inside squirmed at the thought - how he felt for Cho and my confused feelings for Harry and Fred...We each tipped our ginger roots into the cauldron too, and wondered whether we ought to take a leaf out of Moody's book and start drinking only from private hip flasks.

There was a knock on the dungeon door.

"Enter," Snape said in his usual voice.

The class looked around as the door opened. Professor Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape's desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated.

"We need to talk," Karkaroff said abruptly when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he were a rather poor ventriloquist. I tipped my ginger roots into my cauldron next, keeping my eyes on the potion brewing within, listening hard.

"I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff," Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him.

"I want to talk now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me."

"After the lesson," Snape snapped.

Under the pretext of holding up our measuring cups to see if we each poured out enough armadillo bile, Harry and I sneaked sidelong glances at the pair of them. Karkaroff looked extremely worried and Snape looked angry.

Karkaroff hovered behind Snape's desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of class. Keen to hear what Karkaroff wanted to say, I saw Harry deliberately knock over his bottle of armadillo bile with two minutes to go to the bell, which gave us both an excuse to duck down behind his cauldron and mop up while the rest of the class moved noisily toward the door.

"What's so urgent?" we heard Snape hiss at Karkaroff.

_"This,"_ Karkaroff said, and Harry and I, peering around the edges of his cauldron, saw Karkaroff pull up the left-hand sleeve of his robe and show Snape something on his inner forearm.

"Well?" Karkaroff said, still making every effort not to move his lips. "Do you see? It's never been this clear, never since -"

"Put it away!" Snape snarled, his black eyes sweeping the classroom.

"But you must have noticed -" Karkaroff began in an agitated voice.

"We can talk later, Karkaroff!" Snape spat. "Powter! What are you two doing?"

"Clearing up Harry's armadillo bile, Professor," I said innocently, straightening up and showing Snape the sodden rag I was holding. Harry straightened up as well and showed his, too.

Karkaroff turned on his heel and strode out of the dungeons. He looked both worried and angry. Not wanting to remain alone with an exceptionally angry Snape, Harry and I threw out books and ingredients back into our bags and left at top speed to tell Ron and Hermione what we had just witnessed.

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We left the castle at noon the next day to find a weak silver sun shining down upon the grounds. The weather was milder than it had been all year, and by the time we arrived in Hogsmeade, all four of us had taken off our cloaks and thrown them over our shoulders. The food Sirius had told us to bring was divided equally in my and Harry's bags; we had sneaked a dozen chicken legs each, two loafs of bread, and a few flasks of pumpkin juice from the lunch table.

We went into Gladrags Wizardwear to buy a present for Dobby, where we had fun selecting the most lurid socks we could find, including a pair patterned with flashing gold and silver stars, and another that screamed loudly when they became too smelly. Then, at half past one, we made our way up the High Street, past Dervish and Banges, and out toward the edge of the village.

Neither Harry nor I had been in this direction before. The winding lane was leading us out into the wild countryside around Hogsmeade. The cottages were fewer here, and their gardens larger; we were walking toward the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay. Then we turned a corner and saw a stile at the end of the lane. Waiting for us, its front paws on the topmost bar, was a very large, shaggy black dog, which was carrying some newspapers in its mouth and looking very familiar...

"Hello, Sirius," Harry and I said when we had reached him. I stooped and hugged him briefly before standing once more.

The black dog sniffed my bag, then Harry's, eagerly, wagged its tail once, then turned and began to trot away from us across the scrubby patch of ground that rose to meet the rocky foot of the mountain. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I climbed over the stile and followed.

Sirius led us to the very foot of the mountain, where the ground was covered with boulders and rocks. It was easy for him, with his four paws, but Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were soon out of breath. We followed Sirius higher, up onto the mountain itself. For nearly half an hour we climbed a steep, winding, and stony path, following Sirius's wagging tail, sweating in the sun, the shoulder straps of my and Harry's bags cutting into our shoulders.

Then, at last, Sirius slipped out of sight, and when we reached the place where he had vanished, we saw a narrow fissure in the rock. We squeezed into it and found ourselves in a cool, dimly lit cave. Tethered at the end of it, one end of his rope around a large rock, was Buckbeak the hippogriff. Half gray horse, half giant eagle, Buckbeak's fierce orange eye flashed at the sight of us. All four of us bowed low to him, and after regarding us imperiously for a moment, Buckbeak bent his scaly front knees and allowed Hermione to rush forward and stroke his feathery neck. Harry and I, however, were looking at the black dog, which had just turned into our godfather.

Sirius was wearing ragged gray robes; the same ones he had been wearing when he had left Azkaban. His black hair was longer than it had been when he had appeared in the fire, and it was untidy and matted once more. He looked very thin.

"Chicken!" he said hoarsely after removing the old _Daily Prophets_ from his mouth and throwing them down onto the cave floor.

Harry and I pulled open our bags and handed over the bundles of chicken legs and bread.

"Thanks," Sirius said, opening one, grabbing a drumstick, sitting down on the cave floor, and tearing off a large chunk with his teeth. "I've been living off rats mostly. Can't steal too much food from Hogsmeade; I'd draw attention to myself."

He grinned up at Harry and I, but we returned the grin only reluctantly.

"What're you doing here, Sirius?" he asked.

"Fulfilling my duty as godfather," Sirius said, gnawing on the chicken bone in a very doglike way. I had to fight not to smile. "Don't worry about it, I'm pretending to be a lovable stray."

He was still grinning, but seeing the anxiety on my and Harry's faces, said more seriously, "I want to be on the spot. Your last letter...well, let's just say things are getting fishier. I've been stealing paper every time someone throws one out, and by the looks of things, I'm not the only one who'd getting worried."

He nodded at the yellowing _Daily Prophets_ on the cave floor, and Ron picked them up and unfolded them. Harry and I, however, continued to stare at Sirius.

"What if they catch you? What if you're seen?"

"You four and Dumbledore are the only ones around here who know I'm an Animagus," Sirius said, shrugging, and continuing to devour the chicken leg.

I noticed Ron nudge Harry and pass him the _Daily Prophets_. I looked over, curious; there were two: The first bore the headline _Mystery Illness of Bartemius Crouch,_ the second,_ Ministry Witch Still Missing - Minister of Magic Now Personally Involved._

I scanned the story about Crouch. Phrases jumped out at me: _hasn't been seen in public since November...house appears deserted... 's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries decline comment...Ministry refuses to confirm rumors of critical illness..._

"They're making it sound like he's dying," Harry said slowly. "But he can't be that ill if he manged to get up here..."

"My brother's Crouch's personal assistant," Ron informed Sirius. "He says Crouch is suffering from overwork."

"Mind you, he_ did _look ill, last time Chey and I saw him up close," Harry said slowly, still reading the story. "The night our names came out of the goblet..."

"Getting his comeuppance for sacking Winky, isn't he?" Hermione said, an edge to her voice. She was stroking Buckbeak, who was crunching up Sirius's chicken bones. "I bet he wishes he hadn't done it now - bet he feels the difference now she's not there to look after him.

"Oh, Hermione, can you not think about S.P.E.W. for one moment?!" I growled, looking over at her.

"Hermione's obsessed with house-elves," Ron muttered to Sirius, casting Hermione a dark look. Sirius, however, looked interested.

"Crouch sacked his house-elf?"

"Yeah, at the Quidditch World Cup," Harry said, and he and I launched into the story of the Dark Mark's appearance, and Winky being found with Harry's wand clutched in her hand, and Mr. Crouch's fury. When Harry and I had finished, Sirius was on his feet again and had started pacing up and down the cave.

"Let me get this straight," he said after a while, brandishing a fresh chicken leg. "You first saw the elf in the Top Box. She was saving Crouch a seat, right?"

"Right," Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I said together.

"But Crouch didn't turn up for the match?"

"No," Harry and I said. "We think he said he'd been too busy."

Sirius paced all around the cave in silence. Then he said, "Harry, did you check your pockets for your wand after you'd left the Top Box?"

"Erm..." Harry looked to think rather hard. "No," he said finally. "I didn't need to use it before we got in the forest. And then I put my hand in my pocket, and all that was in there were my Omnioculars." He stared at Sirius. "Are you saying whoever conjured the Mark stole my wand in the Top Box?"

"It could've been possible!" I said, suddenly catching on.

"Winky didn't steal that wand!" Hermione insisted.

"The elf wasn't the only one in that box," Sirius said, his brow furrowed as he continued to pace. "Who else was sitting behind you?"

"Loads of people," Harry said. "Some Bulgarian ministers...Cornelius Fudge...the Malfoys..."

"The Malfoys!" Ron said suddenly, so loudly that his voice echoed all around the cave, and Buckbeak started nervously. "I bet it was Lucius Malfoy!"

"Anyone else?" Sirius asked.

"No one," I said.

"Yes, there was, there was Ludo Bagman," Hermione reminded me.

"Oh yeah..."

"I don't know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps," Sirius said, still pacing. "What's he like?"

"He's okay," Harry said. "He keeps offering to help me and Chey with the Triwizard Tournament."

"Does he, now?" Sirius said, frowning more deeply. "I wonder why he'd do that?"

"Says he's taken a liking to us," I said.

"Hmm," Sirius said, looking thoughtful.

"We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared," Hermione told Sirius. "Remember?" she said to Harry, Ron, and I. I nodded.

"Yeah, but he didn't stay in the forest, did he?" Ron said. "The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite."

"How d'you know?" Hermione shot back. "How d'you know where he Disapparated to?"

"Come off it," Ron said incredulously. "Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?"

"It's more likely he did it than Winky," Hermione said stubbornly.

"Told you," Ron said, looking meaningfully at Sirius, "told you she's obsessed with house -"

But Sirius held up a hand to silence Ron.

"When the Dark Mark had been conjured, and the elf had been discovered holding Harry's wand, what did Crouch do?"

"Went to look in the bushes," Harry said, "but there wasn't anyone else there."

"Of course," Sirius muttered, pacing up and down, "of course, he'd want to pin it on anyone but his own elf...and then he sacked her?"

"Yes," Hermione said in a heated voice, "he sacked her, just because she hadn't stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled -"

"Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!" Ron said.

Sirius shook his head and said, "She's got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals."

He ran a hand over his unshaven face, evidently thinking hard.

"All these absences of Barty Crouch's...he goes to the trouble of making sure his house-elf saves him a seat at the Quidditch World Cup, but doens't bother to turn up and watch. He works very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that too...It's not like Crouch. If he's ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I'll eat Buckbeak."

"D'you know Crouch, then?" Harry and I asked.

Sirius's face darkened. He suddenly looked as menacing as he had the night when I'd first met him, and then the night Harry first met him, the night when Harry still believed Sirius to be a murderer.

"Oh I know Crouch all right," he said quietly. "he was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban - without a trial."

_"What?"_ Ron and Hermione said together.

"You're kidding!" Harry said.

"No, I'm not," Sirius said, taking another great bite of chicken. "Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I shook our heads.

"He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic," Sirius said. "He's a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical - and power-hungry. Oh never a Voldemort supporter," he said, reading the looks on my and Harry's faces. "No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side...well, you wouldn't understand...you're too young..."

"That's what my dad said at the World Cup," Ron said, with a trace of irritation in his voice. "Try us, why don't you?"

A grin flashed across Sirius' thin face.

"All right, I'll try you..." He walked once up the cave, back again, and then said, "Imagine that Voldemort's powerful now. You don't know who his supporters are, you don't know who's working for him and who isn't; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You're scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news come of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing...the Ministry of Magic's in disarray, they don't know what to do, they're trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere...panic...confusion...that's how it used to be."

"Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning - I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers - powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trail. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you - plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened..." Sirius smiled grimly. "Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power."

"Crouch's _son_ was caught?" Hermione gasped.

"Yep," Sirius said, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak, flinging himself back down on the ground beside the loaves of bread, and tearing one in half. "Nasty little shock for old Barty, I'd imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn't he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while...gotten to know his own son."

He began to wolf down large pieces of bread.

_"Was_ his son a Death Eater?" Harry asked.

"No idea," Sirius said, still stuffing down bread. "I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I've found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I'd bet my life were Death Eaters - but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf."

"Did Crouch try and get his son off?" Hermione whispered.

Sirius let out a laugh that was much more like a bark.

"Crouch let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Hermione! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again - doesn't that tell you what he's like? Crouch's fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn't much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy...then he sent him straight to Azkaban."

"He gave his own son to the dementors?" Harry said quietly. I was numb with disbelief, but it made sense...Crouch did seem the type to do so.

"That's right," Sirius said, and he didn't look remotely amused now. "I saw the dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though...they all went quiet in the end...except when they shrieked in their sleep..."

For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius's eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had closed behind them.

"So is he still in Azkaban?" I asked softly.

"No," Sirius said dully. "No, he's not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in."

"He _died_?"

"He wasn't the only one," Sirius said bitterly. "Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son's body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it."

Sirius threw aside the bread he had just lifted to his mouth and instead picked up one of the flasks of pumpkin juice and drained it.

"So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made," he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "one moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic...next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonored, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

There was a long silence. I was thinking of the way Crouch's eyes had bulged as he'd looked down at his disobedient house-elf back in the wood at the Quidditch World Cup. This, then, must have been why Crouch had overreacted to Winky being found beneath the Dark Mark. it had brought back memories of his son, and the old scandal, and his fall from grace at the Ministry.

"Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards," Harry told Sirius.

"Yeah, I've heard it's become a bit of a mania with him," Sirius said, nodding. "If you ask me, he still thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater."

"And he sneaked up here to search Snape's office!" Ron said triumphantly, looking at Hermione.

"Yes, and that doesn't make sense at all," Sirius said.

"Yeah, it does!" Ron said excitedly, but Sirius shook his head.

"Listen, if Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn't he been coming to judge the tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him."

"So you think Snape could be up to something, then?" Harry asked, but Hermione broke in.

"Look, I don't care what you say, Dumbledore trusts Snape -"

"Oh give it a rest, Hermione," Ron said impatiently. "I know Dumbledore's brilliant and everything, but that doesn't mean a really clever Dark wizard couldn't fool him -"

"Why did Snape save Harry and Cheyenne's lives in the first year, then? Why didn't he just let them die?"

"I dunno - maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out -"

"What do you think, Sirius?" I asked loudly, and Ron and Hermione stopped bickering to listen.

"I think they've both got a point," Sirius said, looking thoughtfully at Ron and Hermione. "Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I've wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was," Sirius added, and I noticed Harry and Ron grin at each other. "Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters."

Sirius held up his fingers and began ticking off names.

"Rosier and Wilkes - they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges - they're a married couple - they're in Azkaban. Avery - from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the Imperius Curse - he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater - not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape's certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble."

"Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet," Ron said.

"Yeah, you should've seen Snape's face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday!" Harry said quickly. "Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape's been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but neither Chey nor I could see what it was."

"He showed Snape something on his arm?" Sirius asked, looking frankly bewildered. He ran his fingers distractedly through his filthy hair, then shrugged again. "Well, I've no idea what that's about...but if Karkaroff's genuinely worried, and he's going to Snape for answers..."

Sirius stared at the cave wall, then made a grimace of frustration.

"There's still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape, and I know Dumbledore trusts where a lot of other people wouldn't, but I just can't see him letting Snape teach at Hogwarts if he'd ever worked for Voldemort."

"Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape's office, then?" Ron said stubbornly.

"Well," Sirius said slowly, "I wouldn't put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher's office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defense Against the Dark Arts seriously, Moody. I'm not sure _he_ trusts anyone at all, and after the things he's seen, it's not surprising. I'll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though...he's a different matter...is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape's office? And if he's not...what's he up to? What was he doing at the World Cup that was so important he didn't turn up in the Top Box? What's he been doing while he should have been judging the tournament?"

Sirius lapsed into silence, still staring at the cave wall. Buckbeak was ferreting around on the rocky floor, looking for bones he might have overlooked. Finally, Sirius looked up at Ron.

"You say your brother's Crouch's personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he's seen Crouch lately?"

"I can try," Ron said doubtfully. "Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy, though. Percy loves Crouch."

"And you might try and find out whether they've got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you're at it," Sirius said, gesturing to the second copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

"Bagman told Chey and I they hadn't," Harry said.

"Yes, he's quoted in the article in there," Sirius said, nodding at the paper. "Blustering on about how bad Bertha's memory is. Well, maybe she's changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn't forgetful at all - quiet the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip. It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic...maybe that's why Bagman didn't bother to look for her for so long..."

Sirius heaved an enormous sigh and rubbed his shadowed eyes.

"What's the time?"

I watched Harry check his watch, then remember that it hadn't been working since it had spent over an hour in the lake.

"It's half past three," Hermione said.

"You'd better get back to school," Sirius said, getting to his feet. "Now listen..." he looked particularly hard at Harry and I. "I don't want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you're not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you."

"No one's tried to attack us so far, except a dragon and several grindylows," Harry said, but Sirius scowled at him.

"I don't care...I'll breathe freely again when this tournament's over, and that's not until June. And don't forget, if you're talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?"

I nodded, "We'll do that, Sirius. And he is right, Harry, we don't really know a great deal of people we can trust." I said, excluding Ron and Hermione, knowing we could trust them with our lives. Harry looked at me, raising his eyebrows, then sighed in agreement. Sirius smiled. He handed Harry the empty napkin and flask and went to pat Buckbeak good-bye. "I'll walk to the edge of the village with you," Sirius said, "see if I can scrounge another paper."

He transformed into the great black dog before we left the cave, and we walked back down the mountainside with him, across the boulder-strewn ground, and back to the stile. Here he allowed each of us to pat him on the head, before turning and setting off at a run around the outskirts of the village. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I made our way back into Hogsmeade and up toward Hogwarts.

"Wonder if Percy knows all that stuff about Crouch?" Ron said as we walked up the drive to the castle. "But maybe he doesn't care...it'd probably just make him admire Crouch even more. Yeah, Percy loves rules. he'd just say Crouch was refusing to break them for his own son."

"Percy would never throw any of his family to the dementors," Hermione said severly.

"I don't know," Ron said. "If he thought we were standing in the way of his career...Percy's really ambitious, you know..."

We walked up the stone steps into the entrance hall, where the delicious smells of dinner wafted toward us from the Great Hall.

"Poor old Snuffles," Ron said, breathing deeply. "He must really like you both, Harry, Chey...Imagine having to live off rats."


	28. The Madness of Mr Crouch

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

**The Madness of Mr. Crouch**

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I went up to the Owlery after breakfast on Sunday to send a letter to Percy, asking, as Sirius had suggested, whether he had seen Mr. Crouch lately. We used Hedwig, because it had been so long since she'd had a job. When we had watched her fly out of sight through the Owlery window, we proceeded down to the kitchen to give Dobby his new socks.

The house-elves gave us a very cheery welcome, bowing and curtsying and bustling around making tea again. Dobby was ecstatic about his present.

"Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power are too good to Dobby!" he squeaked, wiping large tears out of his enormous eyes.

"You really helped Chey and I before the Second Task, Dobby, you really did," Harry said.

"No chance of more of those eclairs, is there?" Ron asked, who was looking around at the beaming and bowing house-elves.

"You've just had breakfast!" Hermione said irritably, but a great silver platter of eclairs was already zooming toward us, supported by four elves.

"We should get some stuff to send up to Snuffles," Harry muttered.

"Good idea," I said. "We can give Pigwidgeon something to do. Could you get us a bit of extra food, please?" I asked the surrounding elves, and they bowed delightedly and hurried off to get some more.

"Dobby, where's Winky?" Hermione said, who was looking around.

"Winky is over there by the fire, miss," Dobby said quietly, his ears drooping slightly.

"Oh dear," Hermione said as she spotted Winky.

Harry and I looked over at the fireplace too. Winky was sitting on the same stool as last time, but she had allowed herself to become so filthy that she was not immediately distinguishable from the smoke-blackened brick behind her. Her clothes were ragged and unwashed. She was clutching a bottle of butterbeer and swaying slightly on her stool, staring into the fire. As we watched her, she gave an enormous hiccup.

"Winky is getting through six bottles a day now," Dobby whispered to Harry and I.

"Well, it's not strong, that stuff," Harry said.

"Not for us, humans," I said softly, "It's stronger for a house-elf, though."

Winky hiccuped again. The elves who had brought the eclairs gave her disapproving looks as they returned to work.

"Winky is pining, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power," Dobby whispered sadly. "Winky wants to go home. Winky still thinks Mr. Crouch is her master, sir and miss, and nothing Dobby says will persuade her that Professor Dumbledore is her master now."

"Hey, Winky," Harry said, and I could see a sudden inspiration had hit him. He walked over to her, and bent down, "you don't know what Mr. Crouch might be up to, do you? Because he's stopped turning up to judge the Triwizard Tournament." I followed behind him and kneeled next to him so Winky could see us both.

Winky's eyes flickered. Her enormous pupils focused on Harry. She swayed slightly again and then said, "M - Master is stopped - _hic_ - coming?"

"Yeah," I said softly, "we haven't seen him since the first task. The _Daily Prophet's _saying he's ill."

Winky swayed some more, staring blurrily at Harry, then myself.

"Master - _hic_ - ill?"

Her bottom lip began to tremble.

"But we're not sure if that's true," Hermione said quickly.

"Master is needing his - _hic_ - Winky!" the elf whimpered. "Master cannot - _hic_ - manage - _hic_ - all by himself..."

"Other people manage to do their own housework, you know, Winky," Hermione said severely.

"Winky - _hic_ - is not only - _hic_ - doing housework for Mr. Crouch!" Winky squeaked indignantly, swaying worse than ever and slopping butterbeer down her already heavily stained blouse. "Master is - _hic_ - trusting Winky with - _hic_ - the most important - _hic_ - the most secret -"

"What?" Harry and I asked.

But Winky shook her head very hard, spilling more butterbeer down herself.

"Winky keeps - _hic_ - her master's secrets," she said mutinously, swaying very heavily now, frowning up at Harry and I with her eyes crossed. "You two is - _hic_ - nosing, you is."

"Winky must not talk like that to Harry Potter or Cheyenne Power!" Dobby said angrily. "Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power are brave and noble, and Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power are not nosy!"

"They is nosing - _hic_ - into my master's - _hic_ - private and secret - _hic_ - Winky is a good house-elf - _hic_ - Winky keeps her silence - _hic_ - people trying to - _hic_ - pry and poke - _hic_ -"

Winky's eyelids drooped and suddenly, without warning, she slid off her stool into the hearth, snoring loudly. The empty bottle of butterbeer rolled away across the stone-flagged floor. Half a dozen house-elves came hurrying forward, looking disgusted. One of them picked up the bottle; the others covered Winky with a large checked tablecloth and tucked the ends in neatly, hiding her from view.

"We is sorry you had to see that, sirs and misses!" squeaked a nearby elf, shaking his head and looking very ashamed. "We is hoping you will not judge us all by Winky, sirs and misses!"

"She's unhappy!" Hermione said, exasperated. "Why don't you try and cheer her up instead of covering her up?"

"Begging your pardon, miss," the house-elf said, bowing deeply again, "but house-elves has no right to be unhappy when there is work to be done and masters to be served."

"Oh for heaven's sake!" Hermione cried. "Listen to me, all of you! You've got just as much right as wizards to be unhappy! You've got the right to wages and holidays and proper clothes, you don't have to do everything you're told - look at Dobby!"

"Miss will please keep Dobby out of this," Dobby mumbled, looking scared. The cheery smiles had vanished from the faces of the house-elves around the kitchen. They were suddenly looking at Hermione as though she were mad and dangerous.

"We has your extra food!" squeaked an elf at Harry's elbow, and he shoved a large ham, a dozen cakes, and some fruit into my and Harry's arms. "Good-bye!"

The house-elves crowded around Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I and began shunting us out of the kitchen, many little hands pushing in the smalls of our backs.

"Thank you for the socks, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power!" Dobby called miserably from the hearth, where he was standing next to the lumpy tablecloth that was Winky.

"You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you, Hermione?" Ron said angrily as the kitchen door slammed shut behind us. "They won't want us visiting them now! We could've tried to get more stuff out of Winky about Crouch!"

"Oh as if you care about that!" Hermione scoffed. "You only like coming down here for the food!"

It was an irritable sort of day after that. Harry and I got so tired of Ron and Hermione sniping at each other over their homework in the common room that we took Sirius's food up to the Owlery that evening on our own.

Pigwidgeon was much too small to carry an entire ham up to the mountain by himself, so Harry and I enlisted the help of two school screech owls and Elon as well. When they had set off into the dusk, looking extremely odd carrying the large package between them, Harry and I leaned on the windowsill, looking out at the grounds, at the dark, rustling treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and the rippling sails of the Durmstrang ship. An eagle owl flew through the coil of smoke rising from Hagrid's chimney; it soared toward the castle, around the Owlery, and out of sight. Looking down, Harry and I saw Hagrid digging energetically in front of his cabin. We wondered what he was doing; it looked as though he were making a new vegetable patch. As we watched, Madame Maxime emerged from the Beauxbatons carriage and walked over to Hagrid. She appeared to be trying to engage him in conversation. Hagrid leaned upon his spade, but did not seem keen to prolong their talk, because Madame Maxime returned to the carriage shortly afterward.

Unwilling to go back to Gryffindor Tower and listen to Ron and Hermione snarling at each other, Harry and I watched Hagrid digging until the darkness swallowed him and the owls around us began to awaken, swooshing past us into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By breakfast the next day Ron's and Hermione's bad moods had burnt out, and to both my and Harry's relief, Ron's dark predictions that the house-elves would send substandard food up to the Gryffindor table because Hermione had insulted them proved false; the bacon, eggs, and kippers were quite as good as usual.

When the post owls arrived, Hermione looked up eagerly; she seemed to be expecting something.

"Percy won't've had time to answer yet," Ron said. "We only sent Hedwig yesterday."

"No, it's not that," Hermione said. "I've taken out a subscription to the _Daily Prophet_. I'm getting sick of finding everything out from the Slytherins."

"Good thinking!" Harry said and he and I looked up at the owls, too. "Hey, Hermione, I think you're in luck -"

A gray owl was soaring down toward Hermione.

"It hasn't got a newspaper, though," she said, looking disappointed. "It's -"

But to her bewilderment, the gray owl landed in front of her plate, closely followed by four barn owls, a brown owl, and a tawny.

"How many subscriptions did you take out?" Harry asked, seizing Hermione's goblet before it was knocked over by the cluster of owls, all of whom were jostling close to her, trying to deliver their own letter first.

"What on earth -?" Hermione said, taking the letter from the gray owl, opening it, and starting to read. "Oh really!" she sputtered, going rather red.

"What's up?" Ron asked.

"It's - oh how ridiculous -"

She thrust the letter at Harry and I, and we saw that it was not handwritten, but composed from pasted letters that seemed to have been cut out of the _Daily Prophet_.

_You are a wicked girl. Harry Potter deserves better. Go back where you came from muggle and let Harry Potter be happy with someone that actually cares about him._

"They're all like it!" Hermione said desperately, opening one letter after another. " _'Harry Potter can do much better than the likes of you...' 'You deserve to be boiled in frog spawn...'_ Ouch!"

She had opened the last envelope, and yellowish-green liquid smelling strongly of petrol gushed over her hands, which began to erupt in large yellow boils.

"Undiluted bubotuber pus!" Ron said, picking up the envelope gingerly and sniffing it.

"Ow!" Hermione said, tears starting in her eyes as she tried to rub the pus off her hands with a napkin, but her fingers were now so thickly covered in painful sores that it looked as though she were wearing a pair of thick, knobbly gloves. I took my napkin and gingerly started trying to help her wipe some of the pus too, but she winced with each pass over her skin.

"You'd better get up to the hospital wing," Harry said as the owls around Hermione took flight. "We'll tell Professor Sprout where you've gone..."

"I warned her!" Ron said as Hermione hurried out of the Great Hall, cradling her hands. "I warned her not to annoy Rita Skeeter! Look at this one..." He read out one of the letters Hermione had left behind: " _'I read in_ Witch Weekly_ about how you are playing Harry Potter false and that boy has had enough hardship and I will be sending you a curse by next post as soon as I can find a big enough envelope.'_ Blimey, she'd better watch out for herself."

Hermione didn't turn up for Herbology. As Harry, Ron, and I left the greenhouse for our Care of Magical Creatures class, we saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle descending the stone steps of the castle. Pansy Parkinson was whispering and giggling behind them with her gang of Slytherin girls. Catching sight of Harry, Pansy called, "Potter, have you split up with your girlfriend or did she find out you were cheating on her with Power here? Why was she so upset at breakfast?"

Harry ignored her, grabbing my shoulder when I tried to whip around and snarl at her; I knew he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much trouble the _Witch Weekly_ article had caused and just allowed him to herd me toward Hagrid's cabin, still seething.

Hagrid, who had told us last lesson that we had finished with unicorns, was waiting for us outside his cabin with a fresh supply of open crates at his feet. I could almost feel all the color drain from my body at the sight of the crates - surely not another skrewt hatching? - but when we got near enough to see inside, we found ourselves looking at a number of fluffy black creatures with long snouts. Their front paws were curiously flat, like spades, and they were blinking up at the class, looking politely puzzled at all the attention. They were completely and utterly adorable!

"These're nifflers," Hagrid said, when the class had gathered around. "Yeh find 'em down mines mostly. They like sparkly stuff...There yeh go, look."

One of the nifflers had suddenly leapt up and attempted to bite Pansy Parkinson's watch off her wrist. She shrieked and jumped backward while I exchanged grins with Harry.

"Useful little treasure detectors," Hagrid said happily. "Thought we'd have some fun with 'em today. See over there?" He pointed at the large patch of freshly turned earth Harry and I had watched him digging from the Owlery window. "I buried some gold coins. I've got a prize fer whoever picks the niffler that digs up most. Jus' take off all yer valuables, an' choose a niffler, an' get ready ter set 'em loose."

I unhooked my mum's bracelet from my wrist, undid the locket from Fred from around my neck and stored them safely in a pocket in my bag. Then I picked up a niffler. It's long snout tickled up my neck and across my cheek to sniff enthusiastically at my hair. I giggled, petting it.

"Hang on," Hagrid said, looking down into the crate, "there's a spare niffler here...who's missin'? Where's Hermione?"

"She had to go to the hospital wing," Ron said.

"We'll explain later," Harry muttered; Pansy Parkinson was listening and I glared at her over my shoulder, mouthing, 'Mind your own business.' She narrowed her eyes on me and turned her nose arrogantly up into the air.

It was easily the most fun we had ever had in Care of Magical Creatures. The nifflers dived in and out of the patch of earth as though it were water, each scurrying back to the student who had released it and spitting gold into our hands. Ron's was particularly efficient; it had soon filled his lap with coins.

"Can you buy these as pets, Hagrid?" he asked excitedly as his niffler dived back into the soil, splattering his robes. I was thinking of asking the same thing. I really didn't want to give mine back.

"Yer mum wouldn' be happy, Ron," Hagrid said, grinninig. "They wreck houses, nifflers. I reckon they've nearly got the lot, now," he added, pacing around the patch of earth while the nifflers continued to dive. "I on'y buried a hundred coins. Oh there y'are, Hermione!"

Hermione was walking toward us across the lawn. Her hands were very heavily bandaged and she looked miserable. Pansy Parkinson was watching her beadily.

"Keep your eyes in your head, you vulture." I hissed at her, moving closer to help Hermione over to where Harry, Ron, and Hagrid were.

"Well, let's check how yeh've done!" Hagrid said. "Count yer coins! An' there's no point tryin' ter steal any, Goyle," he added, his beetle-black eyes narrowed. "It's leprechaun gold. Vanishes after a few hours."

Goyle emptied his pockets, looking extremely sulky. It turned out that Ron's niffler had been more successful, so Hagrid gave him an enormous slab of Honeydukes chocolate for a prize. The bell rang across the grounds for lunch; the rest of the class set off back to the castle, but Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I stayed behind to help Hagrid put the nifflers back in their boxes. My niffler seemed particularly fond of sitting on my shoulder while I put the others away, sniffing in my ear.

"What yeh done ter your hands, Hermione?" Hagrid asked, looking concerned.

Hermione told him about the hate mail she had received that morning, and the envelope full of bubotuber pus.

"Aaah, don' worry," Hagrid said gently, looking down at her. "I got some o' those letters an' all, after Rita Skeeter wrote abou' me mum. _'Yeh're a monster an' yeh should be put down.' 'Yer mother killed innocent people an' if you had any decency you'd jump in a lake.' _"

"No!" Hermione said, looking shocked.

"Yeah," Hagrid said, as I put my niffler in the crate last and he heaved it over by his cabin wall. "They're jus' nutters, Hermione. Don' open 'em if yeh get any more. Chuck 'em straigh' in the fire."

"You missed a really good lesson," Harry told Hermione as we headed back toward the castle. "They're good, nifflers, aren't they, Ron?"

Ron, however, was frowning at the chocolate Hagrid had given him. He looked thoroughly put out about something.

"What's the matter, Ron?" I asked. "Is it the wrong flavor?"

"No," Ron said shortly. "Why didn't either of you tell me about the gold?"

"What gold?" Harry said.

"The gold I gave you both at the Quidditch World Cup," Ron said. "The leprechaun gold I gave you for my Omnioculars. In the Top Box. Why didn't either of you tell me it disappeared?"

Harry and I looked at each other, having to think for a moment before we realized what Ron was talking about.

"Oh..." he said, the memory coming back to us at last. "We dunno...Neither Chey nor I noticed it had gone. I was more worried about my wand, wasn't I?" I nodded, "Aye, and I was just worried about what was going on...really..."

We climbed the steps into the entrance hall and went into the Great Hall for lunch.

"Must be nice," Ron said abruptly, when we had sat down and started serving ourselves roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. "To have so much money neither of you notice if a pocketful of Galleons goes missing."

"Listen, we had other stuff on our minds that night!" Harry said impatiently. "We all did, remember?"

"I didn't know leprechaun gold vanishes," Ron muttered. "I thought I was paying you both back. You shouldn't've given me that Chudley Cannon hat for Christmas."

"How about we just forget that for now, eh?" I said, smiling reassuringly.

Ron speared a roast potato on the end of his fork, glaring at it. Then he said, "I hate being poor."

Harry, Hermione, and I looked at each other. None of us really knew what to say.

"It's rubbish," Ron said, still glaring down at his potato. "I don't blame Fred and George for trying to make some extra money. Wish I could. Wish I had a niffler."

"Well, we know what to get you next Christmas," Hermione said brightly. Then, when Ron continued to look gloomy, she said, "Come on, Ron, it could be worse. At least your fingers aren't full of pus." Hermione was having a lot of difficulty managing her knife and fork, her fingers were so stiff and swollen. I took them from her and cut up when she wanted, then handed back her fork. "I _hate_ that Skeeter woman!" she burst out savagely as she ate a piece of roast beef. "I'll get her back for this if it's the last thing I do!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hate mail continued to arrive for Hermione over the following week, and although she followed Hagrid's advice and stopped opening it, several of her ill-wishers sent Howlers, which exploded at the Gryffindor table and shrieked insults at her for the whole Hall to hear. Even those people who didn't read _Witch Weekly_ knew all about the supposed Krum-Hermione-Harry-Cheyenne? square now. I knew Harry was getting sick of telling people that Hermione wasn't his girlfriend.

"It'll die down, though," I said to him and Hermione, "if we just ignore it...People got bored with that stuff she wrote about us last time -"

"I want to know how she's listening into private conversations when she's supposed to be banned from the grounds!" Hermione said angrily.

Hermione hung back in our next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson to ask Professor Moody something. The rest of the class was very eager to leave; Moody had given us such a rigorous test of hex-deflection that many of us were nursing small injuries. My hands were burned some and just the open air stun them quite a bit.

"Well, Rita's definitely not using an Invisibility Cloak!" Hermione panted five minutes later, catching up with Harry, Ron, and I in the entrance hall and pulling Harry's hand away form one of his wiggling ears so that he could hear her. "Moody says he didn't see her anywhere near the judges' table at the second task, or anywhere near the lake!"

"Hermione, is there any point in telling you to drop this?" Ron asked.

"No!" Hermione said stubbornly. "I want to know how she heard me talking to Viktor! _And_ how she found out about Hagrid's mum!"

"Maybe she had you bugged," Harry said.

"Bugged?" Ron said blankly. "What...put fleas on her or something?"

I started explaining about hidden microphones and recording equipment. Ron was fascinated, but Hermione interrupted.

"Aren't you two," she looked pointedly at Harry and Ron, _"ever_ going to read _Hogwarts, A History_?"

"What's the point?" Ron asked. "You and Chey know it by heart, we can just ask you two."

"All those substitutes for magic Muggle use - electricity, computers, and radar, and all those things - they all go haywire around Hogwarts, there's too much magic in the air. No, Rita's using magic to eavesdrop, she must be...If I could just find out what it is...ooh, if it's illegal, I'll have her..."

"Haven't we got enough to worry about?" Ron asked her. "Do we have to start a vendetta against Rita Skeeter as well?"

"I'm not asking you to help!" Hermione snapped. "I'll do it on my own!"

She marched back up the marble staircase without a backward glance. Harry and I were quite sure she was going to the library.

"What's the betting she comes back with a box of _I hate Rita Skeeter_ badges?" Ron asked.

Hermione, however, did not ask Harry, Ron, or I to help her pursue vengeance against Rita Skeeter, for which we were all grateful, because our workload was mounting ever higher in the days before the Easter holidays. I was rather surprised at how Hermione could research magical methods of eavesdropping as well as everything else we had to do, but I usually tried not to dwell too long on it. I had my own work to do and I usually helped Harry and Ron whenever I had at least a free second. Though all our work, Harry and I made a point of sending regular food packages up to the cave in the mountain for Sirius; after last summer, neither of us had forgotten what it felt like to be continually hungry. We enclosed notes to Sirius, telling him that nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and that we were still waiting for an answer from Percy.

Hedwig didn't return until the end of the Easter holidays. Percy's letter was enclosed in a package of Easter eggs that Mrs. Weasley had send. While my, Harry, and Ron's eggs were the size of dragon eggs and full of homemade toffee, Hermione's was smaller than a chicken egg. Her face fell when she saw it.

"Your mum doesn't read _Witch Weekly_, by any chance, does she, Ron?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," Ron said, his mouth full of toffee. "Gets it for the recipes."

Hermione looked sadly at her tiny egg.

"Don't you want to see what Percy's written?" Harry asked her hastily.

Percy's letter was short and irritated.

_As I am constantly telling the _Daily Prophet, _Mr. Crouch is taking a well-deserved break. He is sending in regular owls with instruction No, I haven't actually seen him, but I think I can be trusted to know my own superior's handwriting. I have quite enough to do at the moment without trying to quash these ridiculous rumors. Please don't bother me again unless it's something important. Happy Easter._

The start of the summer term would normally have meant that Harry and I were training hard for the last Quidditch match of the season. This year, however, it was the third and final task in the Triwizard Tournament for which we needed to prepare, but we still didn't know what we would have to do. Finally, in the last week of May, Professor McGonagall held us back in Transfiguration.

"You are both to go down to the Quidditch field tonight at nine o'clock, Potter, Power," she told us. "Mr. Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task."

So at half past eight that night, Harry and I left Ron and Hermione in Gryffindor Tower and went downstairs. As we crossed the entrance hall, Cedric came up from the Hufflepuff common room.

"What d'you reckon it's going to be?" he asked us as we went together down the stone steps, out into the cloudy night. "Fleur keeps going on about underground tunnels; she reckons we've got to find treasure."

"That wouldn't be too bad," Harry and I said together, looking at each other, thinking that we would simply ask Hagrid for a couple of nifflers to do the job for us.

We walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium, turned through a gap in the stands, and walked out onto the field.

"What've they done to it?" Cedric said indignantly, stopping dead.

The Quidditch field was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though somebody had been building long, low walls all over it that twisted and crisscrossed in every direction.

"They're hedges!" I said as Harry bent to examine the nearest one.

"Hello there!" a cheery voice called.

Ludo Bagman was standing in the middle of the field with Krum and Fleur. Harry, Cedric, and I made our way toward them, climbing over the hedges, Harry taking my hand to help me over the taller ones. Fleur beamed at Harry and I as we came nearer. Her attitude toward us had changed completely since we had saved her sister from the lake.

"Well, what d'you think?" Bagman said happily as Cedric, Harry, and I climbed over the last hedge. "Growing nicely, aren't they? give them a month and Hagrid'll have them twenty feet high. Don't worry," he added, grinning, spotting the less-than-happy expression on Harry's and Cedric's faces, "you'll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?"

No one spoke for a moment. Then -

"A maze," I said as Krum grunted it out.

"That's right!" Bagman said. "A maze. The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion or champions to touch it will receive full marks."

"We seemply 'ave to get through the maze?" Fleur asked.

"There will be obstacles," Bagman said happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Hagrid is providing a number of creatures...then there will be spells that must be broken...all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champions who are leading on points will get a head start into the maze." Bagman grinned at Harry, Cedric, and I. "Then Mr. Krum will enter...then Miss Delacour. But you'll all be in with a fighting chance, depending how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?"

Harry and I, both of whom knew only too well the kind of creatures that Hagrid was likely to provide for an event like this, thought it was unlikely to be any fun at all. However, we both nodded politely like the other champions.

"Very well...if you haven't got any questions, we'll go back up to the castle, shall we, it's a bit chilly..."

Bagman hurried alongside Harry and I as we began to wend our way out of the growing maze. I had the feeling that Bagman was going to start offering to help us again, but just then, Krum tapped each of our shoulders.

"Could I haff a vord?"

"Yeah, all right," Harry said, sounding surprised.

"Vill you both valk with me?"

"Okay," I said curiously.

Bagman looked slightly perturbed.

"I'll wait for you both, Harry, Cheyenne, shall I?"

"No, it's okay, Mr. Bagman," Harry said, and I could tell he was suppressing a smile, "Chey and I think we can find the castle on our own, thanks."

Harry, Krum, and I left the stadium together, but Krum did not set a course for the Durmstrang ship. Instead, he walked toward the forest.

"What're we going this way for?" I asked as we passed Hagrid's cabin and the illuminated Beauxbatons carriage.

"Don't vont to be overheard," Krum said shortly.

When at last we had reached a quiet stretch of ground a short way from the Beauxbatons horses' paddock, Krum stopped in the shade of the trees and turned to face Harry and I.

"I vant to know," he said, glowering, "vot there is between you," he looked at Harry, "her," he glanced at me, "and Hermy-own-ninny."

With Krum's secretive manner I'd expected something much more serious than this. I stared between Krum and Harry, who was staring at the older male with amazement.

"Nothing," Harry said. But Krum glowered at him, and I could see Harry was somehow struck anew by how tall Krum was. "We're friends. She's not my girlfriend and she never has been. Neither has Chey. It's just that Skeeter woman making things up."

"Hermy-own-ninny talks about you very often," Krum said, looking suspiciously at Harry. "About you and her together."

"Yeah," Harry said, "because we're _friends_. Just like Chey and I are!"

I couldn't quite believe we were having this conversation with Viktor Krum, the famous International Quidditch player. It was as though the eighteen-year-old Krum thought he, Harry, was an equal - a real rival -

"You haff never...you haff not..."

"No," Harry said very firmly.

Krum looked slightly happier. He stared at Harry for a few seconds, looked at me, then said, "You both fly very vell. I vos votching at the first task."

"Thanks," Harry said, grinning broadly. I smiled kindly at him, feeling taller myself. "We saw you at the Quidditch World Cup. The Wronski Feint, you really -"

But something moved behind Krum in the trees, and Harry and I, both of us having had some experience with the sort of thing that lurked in the forest, instinctively grabbed Krum's arm and pulled him around, Harry making sure I stayed behind him.

"Vot is it?"

Harry and I shook our heads, staring at the place where we'd seen movement. We each slipped our hands inside our robes, reaching for our wands.

Suddenly a man staggered out from behind a tall oak. For a moment, neither Harry nor I recognized him...then we realized it was Mr. Crouch.

He looked as though he had been traveling for days. The knees of his robes were ripped and bloody, his face scratched; he was unshaven and gray with exhaustion. His neat hair and mustache were both in need of a wash and a rim. His strange appearance, however, was nothing to the way he was behaving. Muttering and gesticulating, Mr. Crouch appeared to be talking to someone that he alone could see. He reminded Harry and I vividly of an old tramp we had seen once when out shopping with the Dursleys. That man too had been conversing wildly with the air; Aunt Petunia had seized Dudley's hand and pulled him across the road to avoid him; Uncle Vernon had then treated the family to a long rant about what he would like to do with beggars and vagrants.

"Vosn't he a judge?" Krum asked, staring at Mr. Crouch. "Isn't he vith your Ministry?"

Harry and I nodded, hesitated for a moment, then we walked slowly toward Mr. Crouch, who did not look at either of us, but continued to talk to a nearby tree.

"...and when you've done that, Weatherby, send an owl to Dumbledore confirming the number of Durmstrang students who will be attending the tournament, Karkaroff has just sent word there will be twelve..."

"Mr. Crouch?" Harry said nervously.

"...and then send another owl to Madame Maxime, because she might want to up the number of student she's bringing, now Karkaroff's made it a round dozen...do that, Weatherby, will you? Will you? Will..."

Mr. Crouch's eyes were bulging. He stood staring at the tree, muttering soundlessly at it. Then he staggered sideways and fell to his knees.

"Mr. Crouch?" I said loudly. "Are you all right?"

Crouch's eyes were rolling in his head. Harry and I looked around at Krum, who had followed us into the trees, and was looking down at Crouch in alarm.

"Vot is wrong with him?"

"No idea," Harry muttered. "Listen, you'd better go and get someone -"

"Dumbledore!" Mr. Crouch gasped. He reached out and seized a handful of Harry's robes, dragging him closer, though his eyes were staring over Harry's head at me. "I need...see...Dumbledore..."

"Okay," I said, "you need to get up first, Mr. Crouch, and we'll take you up to the -"

"I've done...stupid...thing..." Mr. Crouch breathed. He looked utterly mad. His eyes were rolling and bulging, and a trickle of spittle was sliding down his chin. Every word he spoke seemed to cost him a terrible effort. "Must...tell...Dumbledore..."

"Get up, Mr. Crouch," Harry said loudly and clearly. "Get up, Chey and I'll take you to Dumbledore!"

Mr. Crouch's eyes rolled forward onto Harry.

"Who...you?" he whispered.

"I'm a student at the school," Harry said and I looked around at Krum for some help, but Krum was hanging back, looking extremely nervous.

"You're not..._his_?" Crouch whispered, his mouth sagging.

"No," Harry said and I knew he didn't have the faintest idea what Crouch was talking about.

"Dumbledore's?"

"That's right, he and I both are," I said, stepping more into view at Harry's shoulder.

Crouch was pulling him closer; I took one of his hands, trying to loosen Crouch's grip on his robes, but it was too powerful.

"Warn...Dumbledore..."

"We'll get Dumbledore if you let go of me," Harry said. "Just let go, Mr. Crouch, and we'll get him..."

"Thank you, Weatherby, and when you have done that, I would like a cup of tea. My wife and son will be arriving shortly, we are attending a concert tonight with Mr. and Mrs. Fudge."

Crouch was now talking fluently to a tree again, and seemed completey unaware that either Harry or I were there, which surprised us so much neither of us noticed that Crouch had released him.

"Yes, my son has recently gained twelve O.W.L.s, most satisfactory, yes, thank you, yes, very proud indeed. Now, if you could bring me that memo from the Andorran Minister of Magic, I think I will have time to draft a response..."

"You stay here with him!" Harry said to Krum. "Cheyenne and I'll get Dumbledore, we'll be quicker, we know where his office is -"

"He is mad," Krum said doubtfully, staring down at Crouch, who was still gabbling to the tree, apparently convinced it was Percy.

"Just stay with him," I said, starting to help Harry up, but his movement seemed to trigger another abrupt chance in Mr. Crouch, who seized him hard around the knees ad pulled Harry to the ground, taking me with him.

"Don't...leave...me!" he whispered, his eyes bulging again. "I...escaped...must warn...must tell...see Dumbledore...my fault...all my fault...Bertha...dead...all my fault...my son...my fault...tell Dumbledore...Harry Potter...Cheyenne Power...the Dark Lord...stronger...Harry Potter...Cheyenne Power..."

"We'll get Dumbledore if you let him go, Mr. Crouch!" I said. I looked furiously around at Krum. "Help us, will you?"

Looking extremely apprehensive, Krum moved forward and squatted down next to Mr. Crouch.

"Just keep him here," Harry said, pulling himself free of Mr. Crouch. "We'll be back with Dumbledore."

"Hurry, von't you?" Krum called after us as Harry and I sprinted away from the forest and up through the dark grounds. They were deserted; Bagman, Cedric, and Fleur had disappeared. Harry and I tore up the stone steps, through the oak front doors, and off up the marble staircase, toward the second floor.

Five minutes later we were hurtling toward a stone gargoyle standing halfway along an empty corridor.

"Lem - lemon drop!' we panted at it.

This was the password to the hidden staircase to Dumbledore's office - or at least, it had been two years ago. The password had evidently changed, however, for the stone gargoyle did not spring to life and jump aside, but stood frozen, glaring at Harry and I malevolently.

"Move!" Harry shouted at it. "C'mon!"

But nothing at Hogwarts had ever moved just because we shouted at it; we knew it was no good. We looked up and down the dark corridor. Perhaps Dumbledore was in the staffroom? We started running as fast as we could toward the staircase -

"POWTER!"

Harry and I skidded to a halt and looked around. Snape had just emerged from the hidden staircase behind the stone gargoyle. The wall was sliding shut behind him even as he beckoned Harry and I back toward him.

"What are you both doing here, Powter?"

"We need to see Professor Dumbledore!" I said, running back up the corridor with Harry and skidding to a standstill in front of Snape instead. "It's Mr. Crouch...he's just turned up...he's in the forest...he's asking -"

"What is this rubbish?" Snape said, his black eyes glittering. "What are you talking about?"

"Mr. Crouch!" Harry shouted. "From the Ministry! He's ill or something - he's in the forest, he wants to see Dumbledore! Just give us the password up to -"

"The headmaster is busy, Powter," Snape said, his thin mouth curling into an unpleasant smile.

"We've got to tell Dumbledore!" I burst out angrily.

"Didn't you hear me, Power?"

I could tell Snape was thoroughly enjoying himself, denying Harry and I the thing we wanted when we were so panicky.

"Look," Harry said, just as angrily. "Crouch isn't right - he's - he's out of his mind - he says he wants to warn -"

The stone wall behind Snape slid open. Dumbledore was standing there, wearing long green robes and a mildly curious expression. "Is there a problem?" he asked, looking between Harry and I and Snape.

"Professor!" I said, sidestepping Snape before he could speak, "Mr. Crouch is here - he's down in the forest, he wants to speak to you!" Harry spoke quickly, confirming my story.

I almost expected Dumbledore to ask questions, but to my relief, and Harry's too, Dumbledore did nothing of the sort.

"Lead the way," he said promptly, and he swept off along the corridor behind Harry and I, leaving Snape standing next to the gargoyle and looking twice as ugly.

"What did Mr. Crouch say, Harry, Cheyenne?" Dumbledore asked as we walked swiftly down the marble staircase.

"Said he wants to warn you...said he's done something terrible...he mentioned his son...and Bertha Jorkins...and - and Voldemort...something about Voldemort getting stronger..." Harry and I said together.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, and he quickened his pace as we hurried out into the pitch-darkness.

"He's not acting normally," Harry said as I ran on ahead of him and Dumbledore. "He doesn't seem to know where he is. He keeps talking like he thinks Percy Weasley's there, and then he changes, and says he needs to see you...We left him with Viktor Krum."

"You did?" Dumbledore said sharply, and I paused, looking behind me. Dumbledore had begun to take longer strides still, so that Harry was running to keep up. "Do either of you know if anybody else saw Mr. Crouch?"

"No," I said. "Krum, Harry, and I were talking, Mr. Bagman had just finished telling us about the third task, we stayed behind, and then we saw Mr. Crouch coming out of the forest -"

"Where are they?" Dumbledore asked as the Beauxbatons carriage emerged from the darkness.

"Over here," Harry said, moving in front of Dumbledore to join me and we led the way through the trees. We couldn't hear Crouch's voice anymore, but we knew where we were going; it hadn't been much past the Beauxbatons carriage...somewhere around here...

"Viktor?" I called.

No one answered.

"They were here," Harry said to Dumbledore as I pulled my wand out and lit it. "They were definitely somewhere around here..."

_"Lumos,"_ Dumbledore said, also lighting his wand and holding it up.

It narrow beam combined with mine, lightning up several tree trunks at a time, illuminating the ground. And then they fell upon a pair of feet.

Harry, Dumbledore, and I hurried forward. Krum was sprawled on the forest floor. He seemed to be unconscious. There was no sign at all of Mr. Crouch. Dumbledore bent over Krum and gently lifted one of his eyelids.

"Stunned," he said softly. His half-moon glasses glittered in the wandlight as he peered around at the surrounding trees.

"Should one of Cheyenne or I go and get someone?" Harry asked. "Madam Pomfrey?"

"No," Dumbledore said swiftly. "Stay here."

He raised his wand into the air and pointed it in the direction of Hagrid's cabin. Harry and I saw something silvery dart out of it and streak away through the trees like a ghostly bird. Then Dumbledore bent over Krum again, pointed his wand at him, and muttered, _"Ennervate."_

Krum opened his eyes. He looked dazed. When he saw Dumbledore, he tried to sit up, but Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder and made him lie still.

"He attacked me!" Krum muttered, putting a hand up to his head. "The old madman attacked me! I vos looking around to see vare Potter and Power had gone and he attacked from behind!"

"Lie still for a moment," Dumbledore said.

The sound of thunderous footfalls reached us, and Hagrid came panting into sight with Fang at his heels. He was carrying his crossbow.

"Professor Dumbledore!" he said, his eyes widening. "Harry - Cheyenne - what the -?"

"Hagrid, I need you to fetch Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore said. "His student has been attacked. When you've done that, kindly alert Professor Moody -"

"No need, Dumbledore," said a wheezy growl. "I'm here."

Moody was limping toward us, leaning on his staff, his wand lit.

"Damn leg," he said furiously. "Would've been here quicker...what's happened? Snape said something about Crouch -"

"Crouch?" Hagrid said blankly.

"Karkaroff, please, Hagrid!" Dumbledore said sharply.

"Oh yeah...right y'are, Professor..." Hagrid said, and he turned and disappeared into the dark trees, Fang trotting after him.

"I don't know where Barty Crouch is," Dumbledore told Moody, "but it is essential that we find him."

"I'm onto it," Moody growled, and he pulled out his wand and limped off into the forest.

Neither Dumbledore, Harry, nor I spoke again until we heard the unmistakable sounds of Hagrid and Fang returning. Karkaroff was hurrying along behind them. He was wearing his sleek silver furs, and he looked pale and agitated.

"What is this?" he cried when he saw Krum on the ground and Dumbledore, Harry, and I beside him. "What's going on?"

"I vos attacked!" Krum said, sitting up now and rubbing his head. "Mr. Crouch or votever his name -"

"Crouch attacked you? _Crouch_ attacked you? The Triwizard judge?"

"Igor," Dumbledore began, but Karkaroff had drawn himself up, clutching his furs around him, looking livid.

"Treachery!" he bellowed, pointing at Dumbledore. "It is a plot! You and your Ministry of Magic have lured me here under false pretenses, Dumbledore! This is not an equal competition! First you sneak Potter and Power into the tournament as a team, though they are both underage! Now one of your Ministry friends attempts to put _my_ champion out of action! I smell double-dealing and corruption in this whole affair, and you, Dumbledore, you, with your talk of closer international wizarding laws, of rebuilding old ties, of forgetting old differences - here's what I think of _you_!"

Karkaroff spat onto the ground at Dumbledore's feet. In one swift movement, Hagrid seized the front of Karkaroff's furs, lifted him into the air, and slammed him against a nearby tree.

"Apologize!" Hagrid snarled as Karkaroff gasped for breath, Hagrid's massive fist at his throat, his feet dangling in midair.

"Hagrid, _no_!" Dumbledore shouted, his eyes flashing.

Hagrid removed the hand pinning Karkaroff to the tree, and Karkaroff slid all the way down the trunk and slumped in a huddle at its roots; a few twigs and leaves showered down upon his head.

"Kindly escort Harry and Cheyenne back up to the castle, Hagrid," Dumbledore said sharply.

Breathing heavily, Hagrid gave Karkaroff a glowering look.

"Maybe I'd better stay here, Headmaster..."

"You will take Harry and Cheyenne back to school, Hagrid," Dumbledore repeated firmly. "Take them right up to Gryffindor Tower. And Harry, Cheyenne - I want you to stay there. Anything you might want to do - any owls you might want to send - they can wait until morning, do you understand me?"

"Er - yes," Harry said as we stared at him. How had Dumbledore known that, at that very moment, we had been thinking about sending Pigwidgeon straight to Sirius, to tell him what had happened?

"I'll leave Fang with yeh, Headmaster," Hagrid said, staring menacingly at Karkaroff, who was still sprawled at the foot of the tree, tangled in furs and tree roots. "Stay, Fang. C'mon, Harry, Cheyenne."

We marched in silence past the Beauxbatons carriage and up toward the castle.

"How dare he," Hagrid growled as we strode past the lake. "How dare he accuse Dumbledore. Like Dumbledore'd do anythin' like that. Like Dumbledore wanted _either of you_ in the tournament in the firs' place. Worried! I dunno when I seen Dumbledore more worried than he's bin lately. An' you two!" Hagrid suddenly said angrily to Harry and I, both of us looking back at him, taken aback. "What were yeh doin', wanderin' off with ruddy Krum? He's from Durmstrang, Harry, Cheyenne! Coulda jinxed yeh right there, couldn' he? Hasn' Moody taught either of yeh nothin'? 'Magine lettin' him lure yeh off on yer own -"

"Krum's all right!" I said as we climbed the steps into the entrance hall. "He wans't trying to jinx either of us, he just wanted to talk about Hermione -"

"I'll be havin' a few words with her, an' all," Hagrid said grimly, stomping up the stairs. "The less you lot 'ave ter do with these foreigners, the happier yeh'll be. Yeh can' trust any of 'em."

"You were getting on all right with Madame Maxime," Harry said, annoyed.

"Don' you talk ter me abou' her!" Hagrid said, and he looked quite frightening for a moment. "I've got her number now! Tryin' ter get back in me good books, tryin' ter get me ter tell her what's comin' in the third task. Ha! You can' trust any of 'em!"

Hagrid was in such a bad mood, Harry and I were quite glad to say good-bye to him in front of the Fat Lady. We clambered through the portrait hole into the common room and hurried straight for the corner where Ron and Hermione were sitting, to tell them what had happened.


	29. The Dream

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**The Dream**

"It comes down to this," Hermione said, rubbing her forehead. "Either Mr. Crouch attacked Viktor, or somebody else attacked both of them when Viktor wasn't looking."

"It must've been Crouch," Ron said at once. "That's why he was gone when Harry, Chey, and Dumbledore got there. He'd done a runner."

"Neither of us think so," Harry said, shaking his head. "He seemed really weak - we don't reckon he was up to Disapparating or anything."

"You _can't_ Disapparate on the Hogwarts grounds, haven't Cheyenne and I told you enough times?" Hermione asked.

"Okay...how's this for a theory," Ron said excitedly. "Krum attacked Crouch - no, wait for it - and then Stunned himself!"

"And Mr. Crouch evaporated, did he?" Hermione said coldly.

"Oh yeah..."

It was daybreak. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I had crept out of our dormitories very early and hurried up to the Owlery together to send a note to Sirius. Now we were standing looking out at the misty grounds. All four of us were puffy-eyed and pale because we had been talking late into the night about Mr. Crouch.

"Just go through it again, Harry, Cheyenne," Hermione said. "What did Mr. Crouch actually say?"

"We've told you, he wasn't making much sense," I said. "He said he wanted to warn Dumbledore about something. He definitely mentioned Bertha Jorkins, and he seemed to think she was dead. He kept saying stuff was his fault...He mentioned his son."

"Well, that _was_ his fault," Hermione said testily.

"He was out of his mind," Harry said. "Half the time he seemed to think his wife and son were still alive, and he kept talking to Percy about work and giving him instructions."

"And...remind me what he said about You-Know-Who?"Ron said tentatively.

"We told you," I repeated dully. "He said the Dark Lord is getting stronger."

There was a pause. Then Ron said in a falsely confident voice, "But he was out of his mind, like you said, so half of it was probably just raving..."

"He was sanest when he was trying to talk about Voldemort," Harry said, and Ron winced at the sound of the name. "He was having real trouble stringing two words together, but that was when he seemed to know where he was, and know what he wanted to do. He just kept saying he had to see Dumbledore."

Harry turned away from the window and I saw him stare up into the rafters. I turned my eyes upward as well. The many perches were half-empty; every now and then, another owl would swoop in through one of the windows, returning form its night's hunting with a mouse in its beak.

"If Snape hadn't held us up," Harry said bitterly, "we might've got there in time. 'The headmaster is busy, Powter...what's this rubbish, Powter?' Why couldn't he have just got out of the way?"

"Maybe he didn't want either of you to get there!" Ron said quickly. "Maybe - hang on - how fast d'you reckon he could've gotten down to the forest? D'you reckon he could've beaten you two and Dumbledore there?"

"Not unless he can turn himself into a bat or something," I said, sighing.

"Wouldn't put it past him," Ron muttered.

"We need to see Professor Moody," Hermione said. "We need to find out whether he found Mr. Crouch."

"If he had the Marauder's Map on him, it would've been easy," Harry said.

"Unless Crouch was already outside the grounds," Ron said, "because it only shows up to the boundaries, doesn't -"

"Shh!" Hermione said suddenly.

Somebody was climbing the steps up to the Owlery. I could hear two familiar voices arguing, coming closer and closer.

" - that's blackmail, that is, we could get into a lot of trouble for that -"

" - we've tried being polite; it's time to play dirty, like him. He wouldn't like the Ministry of Magic knowing what he did -"

"I'm telling you, if you put that in writing, it's blackmail!"

"Yeah, and you wouldn't be complaining if we get a nice fat payoff, will you?"

The Owlery door banged open. Fred and George came over the threshold, then froze at the sight of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and myself.

"What're you doing here?" Ron and Fred said at the same time.

"Sending a letter," Harry and George said in unison.

"What, at this time?" Hermione and Fred said.

Fred grinned.

"Fine - we won't ask you what you're doing, if you don't ask us," he said.

He was holding a sealed envelope in his hands. I peered at it, but Fred, whether accidentally or on purpose, shifted his hand so that the name on it was covered. When I lifted my gaze to his face, he was smiling sheepishly and I raised my eyebrows in question.

"Well, don't let us hold you up," Fred said, making a mock bow and pointing at the door.

Ron didn't move. "Who're you blackmailing?" he asked.

The grin vanished from Fred's face. Harry and I saw George half glance at Fred, before smiling at Ron.

"Don't be stupid, I was only joking," he said easily.

"Didn't sound like that," Ron said.

Fred and George looked at each other. Then Fred said abruptly, "I've told you before, Ron, keep your nose out if you like it the shape it is. Can't see why you would, but -"

"It's my business if you're blackmailing someone," Ron said. "George's right, you could end up in serious trouble for that."

"I'd like to know a little, too," I said, crossing my arms over my chest and adopting a look close to one Mrs. Weasley would have. Fred looked both scared and amused.

"Told you, I was joking," George said. He walked over to Fred, pulled the letter out of his hands, and began attaching it to the leg of the nearest barn owl. "You're starting to sound a bit like our dear older brother, you are, Ron. Carry on like this and you'll be made a prefect."

"No, I won't!" Ron said hotly.

George carried the barn owl over to the window and it took off. George turned around and grinned at Ron.

"Well, stop telling people what to do then. See you later."

Fred winked at me and he followed George out of the Owlery. I followed them to the door, watching them leave, my eyes narrowed.

"You don't think they know something about all this, do you?" I heard Hermione whisper behind me. "About Crouch and everything?"

"No," I found myself saying with Harry. "If it was something that serious, they'd tell someone. They'd tell Dumbledore." I turned to look at the others, frowning deeply. Ron was looking uncomfortable.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked him.

"Well..." Ron said slowly, "I dunno if they would. They're...they're obsessed with making money lately, I noticed it when I was hanging around with them - when - you know -"

"We weren't talking," I finished gently for him. "Yeah, but blackmail...wha -"

"It's this joke shop idea they've got," Ron said. "I thought they were only saying it to annoy Mum, but they really mean it, they want to start one. They've only got a year left at Hogwarts, they keep going on about how it's time to think about their future, and Dad can't help them, and they need gold to get started."

Discomfort curled in my belly.

"Yes, but...they wouldn't do anything against the law to get gold."

"Wouldn't they?" Ron said, looking skeptical. "I dunno...they don't exactly mind breaking rules, do they?"

"Yes, but this is the _law,"_ Hermione said then, looking scared. "This isn't some silly school rule...They'll get a lot more than detention for blackmail! Ron...maybe you'd better tell Percy..."

"Are you mad?" Ron said. "Tell Percy? He'd probably do a Crouch and turn them in." I gave a frightened squeak as he stared at the window through which Fred and George's owl had departed, then said, "Come on, let's get some breakfast."

"D'you think it's too early to go and see Professor Moody?" Hermione said as we went down the spiral staircase.

"Yes," I said. "He'd probably blast us through the door if we wake him at the crack of dawn; he'll think we're trying to attack him while he's asleep. Let's wait until break."

History of Magic had rarely gone so slowly. Having no watch, I didn't know what time it was and I would only catch glimpses of Ron's watch as Harry kept checking it. All four of us were so tired we could happily have put our heads down on the desks and slept; even Hermione and I weren't taking our usual notes, but were sitting with our heads on our arms, gazing at Professor Binns with our eyes out of focus.

When the bell finally rang, we hurried out into the corridors toward the Dark Arts classoom and found Professor Moody leaving it. He looked as tired as we felt. The eyelid of his normal eye was drooping, giving his face an even more lopsided appearance than usual.

"Professor Moody?" Harry and I called as we made our way toward him through the crowd.

"Hello, Potter, Power," Moody growled. His magical eye followed a couple of passing first years, who sped up, looking nervous; it rolled into the back of Moody's head and watched them around the corner before he spoke again.

"Come in here."

He stood back to let us into his empty classroom, limped in after us, and closed the door.

"Did you find him?" Harry asked without preamble. "Mr. Crouch?"

"No," Moody said. He moved over to his desk, sat down, stretched out his wooden leg with a slight groan, and pulled out his hip flask.

"Did you use the map?" I asked.

"Of course," Moody said, taking a swig from his flask. "Took a leaf out of your book, Potter, Power. Summoned it from my office into the forest. He wasn't anywhere on there."

"So he _did_ Disapparate?" Ron said.

_"You can't Disapparate on the grounds, Ron!"_ Hermine and I said together. "There are other ways he could have disappeared, aren't there, Professor?" she asked, turning to Professor Moody again.

Moody's magical eye quivered as it rested on Hermione. "You're another one who might think about a career as an Auror," he told her. "Mind works the right way, Granger."

Hermione flushed pink with pleasure.

"Well, he wasn't invisible," Harry said. "The map shows invisible people. He must've left the grounds, then."

"But under his own steam?" I said eagerly, "or because someone made him?"

"Yeah, someone could've - could've pulled him onto a broom and flown off with him, couldn't they?" Ron said quickly, looking hopefully at Moody as if he too wanted to be told he had the makings of an Auror.

"We can't rule out kidnap," Moody growled.

"So," Ron said, "d'you reckon he's somewhere in Hogsmeade?"

"Could be anywhere," Moody said, shaking his head. "Only thing we know for sure is that he's not here."

He yawned widely, so that his scars stretched, and his lopsided mouth revealed a number of missing teeth. Then he said, "Now, Dumbledore's told me you four fancy yourselves as investigators, but there's nothing you can do for Crouch. The Ministry'll be looking for him now, Dumbledore's notified them. Potter, Power, you two just keep your minds on the third task."

"What?" Harry and I said. "Oh yeah..."

We hadn't given the maze a single thought since we'd left it with Krum the previous night.

"Should be right up your street, this one," Moody said, looking up at Harry and I and scratching his scarred and stubbly chin. "From what Dumbledore's said, you've both managed to get through stuff like this plenty of times. Broke your way through a series of obstacles guarding the Sorcerer's Stone in your first year, didn't you?"

"We helped," Ron said quickly. "Me and Hermione helped."

Moody grinned.

"Well, help them practice for this one, and I'll be very surprised if they don't win," Moody said. "In the meantime...constant vigilance, Potter, Power. Constant vigilance." he took another long draw from his hip flask, and his magical eyes swiveled onto the window. The topmost sail of the Durmstrang ship was visible through it.

"You two," Moody counseled, his normal eye on Ron and Hermione, "you stick close to Potter and Power, all right? I'm keeping an eye on things, but all the same...you can never have too many eyes out."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sirius sent our owl back the very next morning. It fluttered down between Harry and I at the same moment that a tawny owl landed in front of Hermione, clutching a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in its beak. She took the newspaper, scanned the first few pages, and said, "Ha! She hasn't got wind of Crouch!" then joined Ron, Harry, and I in reading what Sirius had to say on the mysterious events of the night before last.

_Harry_ _and Cheyenne - what do you two think you're playing at, walking off into the forest with Viktor Krum? I want you both to swear, by return owl, that neither of you is going to go walking with anyone else at night. There is somebody highly dangerous at Hogwarts. It is clear to me that they wanted to stop Crouch from seeing Dumbledore and you were both probably feet away from them in the dark. You both could have been killed._

_Your names didn't get into the Goblet of Fire by accident. If someone's trying to attack either of you, they're on their last chance. Stay close to Ron and Hermione, do not leave Gryffindor Tower after hours, and arm yourselves for the third task. Practice Stunning and Disarming. A few hexes wouldn't go amiss either. There's nothing either of you can do about Crouch. Keep your heads down and look after yourselves and each other. I'm waiting for your letter giving me both your word neither of you will stray out-of-bounds again._

_**Sirius**_

"Who's he, to lecture us about being out-of-bounds?" Harry said in mild indignation as he folded up Sirius's letter and put it inside his robes. "After all the stuff he did at school!"

"He's worried about us, Harry!" I said quickly. "Just like Moody and Hagrid! We need to listen to them!"

"No one's tried to attack us all year!" Harry said. "No one's done anything to us at all -"

"Except put your names in the Goblet of Fire," Hermione said. "And they must've done that for a reason, Harry, Cheyenne. Snuffles is right. Maybe they've been biding their time. Maybe this is the task they're going to get you two."

"Look," Harry said impatiently, "let's say Sirius is right, and someone Stunned Krum to kidnap Crouch. Well, they _would've_ been in the trees near us, wouldn't they? But they waited till Chey and I were out of the way until they acted, didn't they? So it doesn't look like we're their target, does it?"

"Harry, they couldn't have made it look like much of an accident if they'd attacked and murdered us in the forest!" I said. "But if we die during a task -"

"They didn't care about attacking Krum, did they?" Harry said. "Why didn't they just polish us off at the same time? They could've made it look like Krum had a duel with us or something."

"Harry, we don't understand it either," Hermione said desperately. "We just know there are a lot of odd things going on, and we don't like it...Moody's right - Sirius is right - you've got to get in training for the third task, you and Chey, straight away. And you both make sure you write back to Sirius and promise him neither of you is going to go sneak off alone again."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Hogwarts grounds never looked more inviting than when Harry and I had to stay indoors. For the next few days we spent all of our free time either in the library with Ron and Hermione, looking up hexes, or else in empty classrooms, which we sneaked into to practice. Harry and I were concentrating on the Stunning Spell, which we'd never used before. The trouble was that practicing it involved certain sacrifices on Ron's and Hermione's part.

"Can't we kidnap Mrs. Norris?" Ron suggested on Monday lunchtime as he lay flat on his back in the middle of our Charms classroom, having just been Stunned and reawoken by Harry and I for the fifth time in a row. "Let's Stun her for a bit. Or you could use Dobby, Harry, Chey, I bet he'd do anything to help you two. I'm not complaining or anything" - he got gingerly to his feet, rubbing his backside - "but I'm aching all over..."

"Well, you keep missing the cushions, don't you!" Hermione said impatiently, rearranging the pile of cushions we had used for the Banishing Spell, which Flitwick had left in a cabinet. "Just try and fall backward!"

"Once you're Stunned, you can't aim too well, Hermione!" Ron said angrily. "Why don't you take a turn?"

"Well, I think Harry and Chey've got it now, anyway," Hermione said hastily. "And we don't have to worry about Disarming, because they've been able to do that for ages...I think we ought to start on some of these hexes this evening."

She looked down the list we had made in the library.

"I like the look of this one," she said, "this Impediment Curse. Should slow down anything that's trying to attack either of you, Harry, Chey. We'll start with that one."

The bell rang. We hastily shoved the cushions back into Flitwick's cupboard and slipped out of the classroom.

"See you at dinner!" Hermione said, and she set off for Arithmancy, while Harry, Ron, and I headed toward North Tower, and Divination. Broad strips of dazzling gold sunlight fell across the corridor from the high windows. The sky outside was so brightly blue it looked as though it had been enameled.

"It's going to be boiling in Trelawney's room, she never puts out that fire," Ron said as we started up the staircase toward the silvery ladder and the trapdoor.

He was quite right. The dimly lit room was swelteringly hot. The fumes from the perfumed fire were heavier than ever. My head swam as Harry made his way over to one of the curtained windows. While Professor Trelawney was looking the other way, disentangling her shawl from a lamp, he opened it an inch or so and settled back in his chintz armchair beside mine, so that a soft breeze played across our faces. It was extremely comfortable.

"My dears," Professor Trelawney said, sitting down in her winged armchair in front of the class and peering around at us all with her strangely enlarged eyes, "we have almost finished our work on planetary divination. Today, however, will be an excellent opportunity to examine the effects of Mars, for he is placed most interestingly at the present time. If you will all look this way, I will dim the lights..."

She waved her wand and the lamps went out. The fire was the only source of light now. Professor Trelawney bent down and lifted, from under her chair, a miniature model of the solar system, contained within a glass dome. It was a beautiful thing; each of the moons glimmered in place around the nine planets and the fiery sun, all of them hanging in thin air beneath the glass. I watched, rather lazily, as Professor Trelawney began to point out the fascinating angle Mars was making to Neptune. The heavily perfumed fumes washed over me, and the breeze from the window played across my face. I leaned my head forward on the table, leaning it against my arm. My eyelids began to droop...

I was riding on the back of an eagle owl with Harry, him sitting behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist. We were soaring through the clear blue sky toward an old, ivy-covered house set high on a hillside. Lower and lower we flew, the wind blowing pleasantly in my and Harry's faces, until we reached a dark and broken window in the upper story of the house and entered. Now we were flying along a gloomy passageway, to a room at the very end...through the doorway we went, into a dark room whose windows were boarded up...

Harry and I had left the owl's back...we were watching, now, as it fluttered across the room, into a chair with its back to us...There were two dark shapes on the floor beside the chair...both of them were stirring...

One was a huge snake...the other was a man...a short, balding man, a man with watery eyes and a pointed nose...he was wheezing and sobbing on the hearth rug...

"You are in luck, Wormtail," a cold, high-pitched voice said from the depths of the chair in which the owl had landed. A shiver ran the length of my spine. "You are very fortunate indeed. Your blunder has not ruined everything. He is dead."

"My lord!" gasped the man on the floor. "My Lord, I am...I am so pleased...and so sorry..."

"Nagini," the cold voice said, "You are out of luck. I will not be feeding Wormtail to you, after all...but never mind, never mind...there is still Harry Potter...and Cheyenne Power..."

The snake hissed. I could see its tongue fluttering.

"Now, Wormtail," the cold voice said, "perhaps one more little reminder why I will not tolerate another blunder from you..."

"My Lord...no...I beg you..."

The tip of a wand emerged from around the back of the chair. It was pointing at Wormtail.

_"Crucio!"_ the cold voice said.

Wormtail screamed, screamed as though every nerve in his body were on fire, the screaming filling my ears as the scar on my forehead seared with pain; I screamed too...Voldemort would hear me, would know we were there...

_"Harry! Cheyenne!"_

I opened my eyes. I was laying on the floor of Professor Trelawney's room with my hands over my face. My scar was still burning so badly that my eyes were watering. The pain had been real. The whole class was standing around me and Harry, who was laying parallel to me. Ron was kneeling next to us, looking terrified.

"You both all right?" he asked.

"Of course they aren't!" Professor Trelawney said, looking thoroughly excited. Her great eyes loomed over Harry and I, gazing at us. "What was it, Potter, Power? A premonition? An apparition? What did you both see?"

"Nothing," Harry and I lied. We both sat up. I could feel myself shaking. I couldn't stop myself from looking around into the shadows behind me; Voldemort's voice had sounded so close...

"You were both clutching your scars!" Professor Trelawney said. "You were both rolling on the floor, clutching your scars! Come now, Potter, Power, I have experience in these matters!"

Harry and I looked up at her.

"We need to go to the hospital wing, I think," I said. "Bad headaches."

"My dears, you were both undoubtedly stimulated by the extraordinary clairvoyant vibrations of my room!" Professor Trelawney said. "If you both leave now, you may lose the opportunity to see further than you have ever -"

"We don't want to see anything except a headache cure," Harry said.

We stood up together. The class backed away. They all looked unnerved.

"See you later," I heard Harry mutter to Ron as I picked up both our bags and handed him his. He herded me toward the trapdoor, ignoring Professor Trelawney, who was wearing an expression of great frustration, as though she had just been denied a real treat.

When Harry and I reached the bottom of her stepladder, however, we did not set off for the hospital wing. Neither of us had any intention whatsoever of going there. Sirius had told us what to do if our scars hurt us again, and Harry and I were going to follow his advice: We were going straight to Dumbledore's office. We marched down the corridors, thinking about what we had seen in the dream...it had been as vivid as the one that had awakened us on Privet Drive...We ran over the details with each other, trying to make sure we could remember them...We had heard Voldemort accusing Wormtail of making a blunder...but the owl had brought good news, the blunder had been repaired, somebody was dead...so Wormtail was not going to be fed to the snake...we, Harry and Cheyenne, were going to be fed to it instead...

Harry and I had walked right past the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office without noticing. We blinked together, looked around, realized what we had done, and retraced our steps, stopping in front of it. Then we remembered that we didn't know the password.

"Lemon drop?" I tried tentatively.

The gargoyle didn't move.

"Okay," Harry said with a sigh as we stared at it, "Pear Drop. Er -"

"Licorice Wand?"

"Fizzing Whizbee."

"Drooble's Best Blowing Gum."

"Bertie Bott's Ever Flavor Beans..."

"No, wait, he doesn't like those, remember?"

"Oh, just open up, will you!" Harry said angrily to the gargoyle. "We really need to see him, it's urgent!"

The gargoyle remained immoveable.

Harry kicked it, achieving nothing but what looked like an excruciating pain in his toes.

"Chocolate Frog!" he yelled angrily, standing on one leg. "Sugar Quill!" I put my hand on his shoulder. "Harry, maybe we should just stand back a moment and think about this. You're hurt and your temper is up. Let's just sit back and regroup. What else haven't we tried? Cockroach Cluster?" I said, trying to make Harry smile.

The gargoyle suddenly sprang to life and jumped aside. Harry and I blinked.

"Cockroach Cluster?" I said, amazed. "I was only joking..."

We hurried through the gap in the walls and stepped onto the foot of a spiral stone staircase, which moved slowly upward as the doors closed behind us, taking us up to a polished oak door with a brass door knocker.

We could hear voices from inside the office. We stepped off the moving staircase and hesitated, listening.

"Dumbledore, I'm afraid I don't see the connection, don't see it at all!" It was the voice of the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. "Ludo says Bertha's perfectly capable of getting herself lost. I agree we would have expected to have found her by now, but all the same, we've no evidence of foul play, Dumbledore, none at all. As for her disappearance being linked with Barty Crouch's!"

"And what do you think's happened to Barty Crouch, Minister?" Moody's growling voice said.

"I see two possibilities, Alastor," Fudge said. "Either Crouch has finally cracked - more than likely, I'm sure you'll agree, given his personal history - lost his mind, and gone wandering off somewhere -"

"He wandered extremely quickly, if that is the case, Cornelius," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Or else - well..." Fudge sounded embarrassed. "Well, I'll reserve judgement until after I've seen the place where he was found, but you say it was just past the Beauxbatons carriage? Dumbledore, you know what the woman _is_?"

"I consider her to be a very able headmistress - and an excellent dancer," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Dumbledore, come!" Fudge said angrily. "Don't you think you might be prejudiced in her favor because of Hagrid? They don't all turn out harmless - if, indeed, you can call Hagrid harmless, with that monster fixation he's got -"

"I no more suspect Madame Maxime than Hagrid," Dumbledore said, just as calmly. "I think it possible that it is you who is prejudiced, Cornelius."

"Can we wrap up this dicussion?" Moody growled.

"Yes, yes, let's go down to the grounds, then," Fudge said impatiently.

"No, it's not that," Moody said, "it's just that Potter and Power want a word with you, Dumbledore. They're just outside the door."


	30. The Pensieve

**Chapter Thirty**

**The Pensieve**

The door of the office opened.

"Hello, Potter, Power," Moody said. "Come in, then."

Harry and I walked inside. We had been inside Dumbledore's office once before; it was a very beautiful, circular room, lined with pictures of previous headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts, all of whom were fast asleep, their chest rising and falling gently.

Cornelius Fudge was standing beside Dumbledore's desk, wearing his usual pinstriped cloak and holding his lime-green bowler hat.

"Cheyenne!" Fudge said jovially, moving forward. "Harry! How are you both?"

"Fine," Harry and I lied.

"We were just talking about the night when Mr. Crouch turned up on the grounds," Fudge said. "It was you two who found him, was it not?"

"Yes," Harry said. Then, feeling it was pointless to pretend that we hadn't overheard what they had been saying, he added, "We didn't see Madame Maxime anywhere, though, and she'd have a job hiding, wouldn't she?"

Dumbledore smiled at Harry behind Fudge's back, his eyes twinkling.

"Yes, well," Fudge said, looking embarrassed, "we're about to go for a short walk on the grounds, Harry, Cheyenne, if you'll both excuse me...perhaps if you just go back to your class -"

"We wanted to talk to you, Professor," I broke in quickly, looking at Dumbledore, who gave us each a swift, searching look.

"Wait here for me, Cheyenne, Harry," he said. "Our examination of the grounds will not take long."

They trooped out in silence past us and closed the door. After a minute or so, Harry and I heard the clunks of Moody's wooden leg growing fainter in the corridor below. We looked around.

"Hello, Fawkes," he said.

Fawkes, Dumbledore's pheonix, was standing on his golden perch beside the door. The size of a swan, with magnificent scarlet-and-gold plumage, he swished his long tail and blinked benignly at Harry and I.

I sat down in a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk while Harry stood behind me silently. For several minutes, we watched the old headmasters and headmistresses snoozing in their frames, talking quietly about what we had just heard, running our fingers over our scars. They had both stopped hurting now.

We felt much calmer, somehow, now that we were in Dumbledore's office, knowing we would shortly be telling him about the dream. Harry and I looked up at the walls behind the desk. The patched and ragged Sorting Hat was standing on a shelf. A glass case next to it held a magnificent silver sword with large rubies set into the hilt, which Harry and I recognized as the one he had pulled out of the Sorting Hat in our second year. The sword had once belonged to Godric Gryffindor, founder of my and Harry's house. We were gazing at it, remembering how it had come to our aid when we had thought all hope was lost, when he pointed out a patch of silvery light, dancing and shimmering on the glass case. We looked around for the source of the light and saw a sliver of silver-white shining brightly from within a black cabinet behind us, whose door had not been closed properly. I stood up beside Harry, who hesitated, glancing at Fawkes. I tentively stepped forward, feeling Harry grab my arm to stop me before he followed me and we pulled open the cabinet door together.

A shallow stone basin lay there, with odd carvings around the edge: runes and symbols that neither Harry nor I recognized. The silvery light was coming from the basin's contents, which were like nothing neither Harry nor I had ever seen before. We could not tell whether the substance was liquid or gas. It was a bright, whitish silver, and it was moving ceaselessly; the surface of it became ruffled like water beneath wind, and then, like clouds, separated and swirled smoothly. It looked like light made liquid - or like wind made solid - neither Harry nor I could quite seemed to agree.

We wanted to touch it, to find out what it felt like, but nearly four years' experience of the magical world told us that sticking our hands into a bowl full of some unknown substance was a very stupid thing to do. He therefore pulled his wand out of the inside of his robes, I cast a nervous look around the office, looked back at the contents of the basin, took his hand, and he prodded them.

The surface of the silvery stuff inside the basin began to swirl very fast.

Harry and I bent closer, our heads right inside the cabinet. The silvery substance had become transparent; it looked like glass. We looked down into it, our cheeks brushing, expecting to see the stone bottom of the basin - and saw instead an enormous room below the surface of the mysterious substance, a room into which we seemed to be looking through a circular window in the ceiling.

The room was dimly lit; we thought it might even be underground, for there were no windows, merely torches in brackets such as the ones that illuminated the walls of Hogwarts. Lowering our faces so that our noses were a mere inch away from the glassy substance, Harry and I saw that rows and rows of witches and wizards were seated around every wall on what seemed to be benches rising in levels. An empty chair stood in the very center of the room. There was something about the chair that gave us an ominous feeling. Chains encircled the arms of it, as though its occupants were usually tied to it.

Where was this place? It surely wasn't Hogwarts; neither of us had ever seen a room like this here in the castle. Moreover, the crowd in the mysterious room at the bottom of the basin was comprised of adults, and Harry and I knew there were not nearly that many teachers at Hogwarts. They seemed, we thought, to be waiting for something; even though we could only see the tops of their hats, all of their faces seemed to be pointing in one direction, and none of them were talking to one another.

The basin being circular, and the room we were observing square, neither of us could make out what was going on in the corners of it. We leaned even closer, tilting our heads, trying to see...

The tips of our noses touched the strange substance into which we were staring.

Dumbledore's office gave an almighty lurch - Harry and I were thrown forward and pitched headfirst into the substance inside the basin -

But our heads did not hit the stone bottom. We were falling through something icy-cold and black; it was like being sucked into a dark whirlpool -

And suddenly, Harry and I found ourselves sitting on a bench at the end of the room inside the basin, a bench raised high above the others. We looked up at the high stone ceiling, expecting to see the circular window through which we had just been staring, but there was nothing there but dark, solid stone.

Breathing hard and fast, Harry and I looked around ourselves. I scooted closer to him, clutching his robes and his arm went around my waist, holding me protectively against his side. Not one of the witches and wizards in the room (and there were at least two hundred of them) was looking at us. Not one of them seemed to have noticed that a fourteen-year-old boy and fifteen-year-old girl had just dropped from the ceiling into their midst. I peered around Harry at the wizard next to us on the bench and supressed a scream of surprise. He turned to look, too, and uttered a loud cry of surprise that reverberated around the silent room.

We were sitting right next to Albus Dumbledore.

"Professor!" Harry said in a kind of strangled whisper. "We're sorry - we didn't mean to - we were just looking at that basin in your cabinet - we - where are we?"

But Dumbledore didn't move or speak. He ignored Harry and I completely. Like every other wizard on the benches, he was staring into the far corner of the room, where there was a door.

Harry and I gazed,nonplussed, at Dumbledore, then around at the silently watchful crowd, then back at Dumbledore. Then it suddenly struck me and I gently tugged on Harry's robes.

"Harry...I think we're in Dumbledore's memory..." I whispered.

It made perfect sense; once before, Harry and I had found ourselves somewhere that nobody could see or hear us. That time, we had fallen through a page in an enchanted diary, right into somebody else's memory...this had to be just like the first time...

I watched as Harry raised his right hand, hesitated, and then waved it energetically in front of Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore did not blink, look around at either Harry or I, or indeed move at all. And that, in my opinion, settled the matter. Dumbledore wouldn't ignore us like that. We were inside a memory, and this was not the present-day Dumbledore. Yet it couldn't be that long ago...the Dumbledore sitting next to us now was silvery-haired, just like the present-day Dumbledore. But what was this place? What were all these wizards waiting for?

Harry and I looked around more carefully. The room, as we had suspected when observing it from above, was almost certainly underground - more of a dungeon than a room, I thought. There was a bleak and forbidding air about the place; there were no pictures on the walls, no decorations at all; just these serried rows of benches, rising in levels all around the room, all positioned so that we had a clear view of that chair with the chains on its arms.

Before either Harry or I could reach any conclusions about the place in which we were, we heard footsteps. The door in the corner of the dungeon opened and three people entered - or at least one man, flanked by two dementors.

My insides went cold. The dementors - tall, hooded figures whose faces were concealed - were gliding slowly toward the chair in the center of the room, each grasping one of the man's arms with their dead and rotten-looking hands. The man between them looked as though he was about to faint, and neither Harry nor I could blame him...we knew the dementors could not touch us inside a memory, but we remembered their power only too well. The watching crowd recoiled slightly as the dementros placed the man in the chained chair and glided back out of the room. The door swung shut behind them.

Harry and I looked down at the man now sitting in the chair and saw that it was Karkaroff.

Unlike Dumbledore, Karkaroff looked much younger; his hair and goatee were black. He was not dressed in sleek furs, but in thin and ragged robes. He was shaking. Even as Harry and I watched, the chains on the arms of the chair glowed suddenly gold and snaked their way up Karkaroff's arms, binding him there.

"Igor Karkaroff," a curt voice said to my and Harry's left. Harry and I looked around and saw Mr. Crouch standing up in the middle of the bench beside us. Crouch's hair was dark, his face was much less lined, he looked fit and alert. "You have been brought from Azkaban to present evidence to the Ministry of Magic. You have given us to understand that you have important information for us."

Karkaroff straightened himself as best he could, tightly bound to the chair.

"I have, sir," he said, and although his voice was very scared, Harry and I could still hear the familiar unctuous note in it. "I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish to help. I - I know that the Ministry is trying to - to round up the last of the Dark Lord's supporters. I am eager to assist in any way I can..."

There was a murmur around the benches. Some of the wizards and witches were surveying Karkaroff with interest, others with pronounced distrust. Then Harry and I heard, quite distinctly, from Dumbledore's other side, a familiar, growling voice saying, "Filth."

Harry and I leaned forward together so that we could see past Dumbledore. Mad-Eye Moody was sitting there - except that there was a very noticeable difference in his appearance. He did not have his magical eye, but two normal ones. Both were looking down upon Karkaroff, and both were narrowed in intense dislike.

"Crouch is going to let him out," Moody breathed quietly to Dumbledore. "He's done a deal with him. Took me six months to track him down, and Crouch is going to let him go if he's got enough new names. Let's hear his information, I say, and throw him straight back to the dementors."

Dumbledore made a small noise of dissent through his long, crooked nose.

"Ah, I was forgetting...you don't like the dementors, do you, Albus?" Moody said with a sardonic smile.

"No," Dumbledore said calmly, "I'm afraid I don't. I have long felt the Ministry is wrong to ally itself with such creatures."

"But for filth like this..." Moody said softly.

"You say you have names for us, Karkaroff," Mr. Crouch said. "Let us hear them, please."

"You must understand," Karkaroff siad hurriedly, "that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named operated always in the greatest secrecy...He preferred that we - I mean to say, his supporters - and I regret now, very deeply, that I ever counted myself among them -"

"Get on with it," Moody sneered.

" - we never knew the names of every one of our fellows - He alone knew exactly who we all were -"

"Which was a wise move, wasn't it, as it prevented someone like you, Karkaroff, from turning all of them in," Moody muttered.

"Yet you say you have _some_ names for us?" Mr. Crouch said.

"I - I do," Karkaroff said breathlessly. "And these were important supporters, mark you. People I saw with my own eyes doing his bidding. I give this information as a sign that I fully and totally renounce him, and am filled with a remorse so deep I can barely -"

"These names are?" Mr. Crouch said sharply.

Karkaroff drew a deep breath.

"There was Antonin Dolohov," he said. "I - I saw him torture countless Muggles and - and non-supporters of the Dark Lord."

"And helped him do it," Moody murmured.

"We have already apprehended Dolohov," Crouch said. "He was caught shortly after yourself."

"Indeed?" Karkaroff said, his eyes widening. "I - I am delighted to hear it!"

But he didn't look it. I could tell that this news had come as a real blow to him. One of his names was worthless.

"Any others?" Crouch asked coldly.

"Why, yes...there was Rosier," Karkaroff said hurriedly. "Evan Rosier."

"Rosier is dead," Crouch said. "He was caught shortly after you were too. He preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle."

"Took a bit of me with him, though," Moody whispered to Harry's right. Harry and I looked around at him once more, and saw him indicating the large chunk out of his nose to Dumbledore.

"No - no more than Rosier deserved!" Karkaroff said, a real note of panic in his voice now. Harry and I could see that he was starting to worry that none of his information would be of any use to the Ministry. Karkaroff's eyes darted toward the door in the corner, behind which the dementors undoubtedly still stood, waiting.

"Any more?" Crouch asked.

"Yes!" Karkaroff said. "There was Travers - he helped murder the McKinnons! Mulciber - he specialized in the Imperius Curse, forced countless people to do horrific things! Rookwood, who was a spy, and passed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself!"

Harry and I could tell that, this time, Karkaroff had struck gold. The watching crowd was all murmuring together.

"Rookwood?" Mr. Crouch said, nodding to a witch sitting in front of him, who began scribbling upon her piece of parchment. "Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries?"

"The very same," Karkaroff said eagerly. "I believe he used a network of well-placed wizards, both inside the Ministry and out, to collect information -"

"But Travers and Mulciber we have," Mr. Crouch said. "Very well, Karkaroff, if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide -"

"Not yet!" Karkaroff cried, looking quite desperate. "Wait, I have more!"

Harry and I could see him sweating in the torchlight, his white skin contrasting strongly with the black of his hair and beard.

"Snape!" he shouted. "Severus Snape!"

"Snape has been cleared by this council," Crouch said disdrainfully. "He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore."

"No!" Karkaroff shouted, straining at the chains that bound him to the chair. "I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!"

Dumbledore had gotten to his feet.

"I have given evidence already on this matter," he said calmly. "Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am."

Harry and I turned to look at Mad-Eye Moody. He was wearing a look of deep skrepticism behind Dumbledore's back.

"Very well, Karkaroff," Crouch said coldly, "you have been of assistance. I shall review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime..."

Mr. Crouch's voice faded. Harry and I looked around and our arms tightened around each other; the dungeon was dissolving as though it were made of smoke; everything was fading; we could see only our own bodies - all else was swirling darkness...

And then, the dungeon returned. Harry and I were sitting in a different seat, still on the highest bench, but now to the left side of Mr. Crouch. The atmosphere seemed quite different: relaxed, even cheerful. The witches and wizards all around the walls were talking to one another, almost as though they were at some sort of sporting event. Harry and I noticed a witch halfway up the rows of benches opposite. She had short blond hair, was wearing magenta robes, and was sucking the end of an acid-green quill. It was, unmistakably, a young Rita Skeeter. Harry and I looked around; Dumbledore was sitting beside us again, wearing different robes. Mr. Crouch looked more tired and somehow fiercer, gaunter...we understood. It was a different memory, a different day...a different trial.

The door in the corner opened, and Ludo Bagman walked into the room.

This was not, however, a Ludo Bagman gone to seed, but a Ludo Bagman who was clearly at the height of his Quidditch-playing fitness. His nose wasn't broken now; he was tall and lean and muscular. Bagman looked nervous as he sat down in the chained chair, but it did not bind him there as it had bound Karkaroff, and Bagman, perhaps taking heart from this, glanced around at the watching crowd, waved at a couple of them, and managed a small smile.

"Ludo Bagman, you have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical Law to answer charges relating to the activities of the Death Eaters," Mr. Crouch said. "We have heard the evidence against you, and are about to reach our verdict. Do you have anything to add to your testimony before we pronounce judgement?"

I couldn't believe my ears. _Ludo Bagman, a Death Eater?_

"Only," Bagman said, smiling awkwardly, "well - I know I've been a bit of an idiot -"

One or two wizards and witches in the surrounding seats smiled indulgently. Mr. Crouch did not appear to share their feelings. He was staring down at Ludo Bagman with an expression of the utmost severity and dislike.

"You never spoke a truer word, boy," someone muttered dryly to Dumbledore behind Harry and I. We looked around and saw Moody sitting there again. "If I didn't know de'd always been dim, I'd have said some of those Bludgers had permanently affected his brain..."

"Ludovic Bagman, you were caught passing information to Lord Voldemort's supporters," Mr. Crouch said. "For this, I suggest a term of imprisonment in Azkaban lasting no less than -"

But there was an angry outcry from the surrounding benches. Several of the witches and wizards around the walls stood up, shaking their heads, and even their fists, at Mr. Crouch.

"But I've told you, I had no idea!" Bagman called earnestly over the crowd's babble, his round blue eyes widening. "None at all! Old Rookwook was a friend of my dad's...never crossed my mind he was in with You-Know-Who! I thought I was collecting information for our side! And Rookwood kept talking about getting me a job in the Ministry later on...once my Quidditch days are over, you know...I mean, I can't keep getting hit by Bludgers for the rest of my life, can I?"

There were titters from the crowd.

"It will be put to the vote," Mr. Crouch said coldly. He turned to the right-hand side of the dungeon. "The jury will please raise their hands...those in favor of imprisonment..."

Harry and I looked toward the right-hand side of the dungeon. Not one person raised their hand. Many of the witches and wizards around the walls began to clap. One of the witches on the jury stood up.

"Yes?" Crouch barked.

"We'd just like to congratulate Mr. Bagman on his splendid performance for England in the Quidditch match against Turkey last Saturday," the witch said breathlessly.

Mr. Crouch looked furious. The dungeon was ringing with applause now. Bagman got to his feet and bowed, beaming.

"Despicable," Mr. Crouch spat at Dumbledore, sitting down as Bagman walked out of the dungeon. "Rookwood get him a job indeed...The day Ludo Bagman joins us will be a sad day indeed for the Ministry..."

And the dungeon dissolved again. When it had returned, Harry and I looked around. We and Dumbledore were still sitting beside Mr. Crouch, but the atmosphere could not have been more different. There was total silence, broken only by the dry sobs of a frail, wispy-looking witch in the seat next to Mr. Crouch. She was clutching a handkerchief to her mouth with trembling hands. Harry and I looked up at Crouch and saw that he looked gaunter and grayer than ever before. A nerve was twitching in his temple.

"Bring them in," he said, and his voice echoed through the silent dungeon.

The door in the corner opened yet again. Six dementors entered this time, flanking a group of four people. Harry and I saw the people in the crowd turn to look up at Mr. Crouch. A few of them whispered to one another.

The dementors placed each of the four people in the four chairs with chained arms that now stood on the dungeon floor. There was a thickset man who stared blankly up at Crouch; a thinner and more nervous-looking man, whose eyes were darting around the crowd; a woman with thick, shining dark hair and heavily hooded eyes, who was sitting in the chained chair as though it were a throne; and a boy in his late teens, who looked nothing short of petrified. He was shivering, his straw-colored hair all over his face, his freckled skin milk-white. The wispy little witch beside Crouch began to rock backward and forward in her seat, whimpering into her handkerchief.

Crouch stood up. He looked down upon the four in front of him, and there was pure hatred in his face.

"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," he said clearly, "so that we may pass judgement on you, for a crime so heinous -"

"Father," the boy with the straw-colored hair said. "Father...please..."

" - that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court," Crouch said, speaking more loudly, drowning out his son's voice. My throat seized and ears stung the back of my eyes at the sight. I buried my face in Harry's shoulder and he hugged me closer, squeezing my shoulder. "We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror - Frank Longbottom - and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named -"

"Father, I didn't!" shrieked the boy in chains below. "I didn't, I swear it, Father, don't send me back to the dementors -"

"You are further accused," Mr. Crouch bellowed, "of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong. I now ask the jury -"

"Mother!" the boy screamed below, and I heard the wispy little witch beside Crouch begin to sob, rocking backward and forward. "Mother, stop him, Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"

"I now ask the jury," Mr. Crouch shouted, "to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!"

I lifted my head some to see what was going on. In unison, the witches and wizards along the right-hand side of the dungeon raised their hands. The crowd around us began to clap as they had for Bagman, their faces full of savage triumph. The boy began to scream.

"No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him!"

I lifted my head more. The dementors were gliding back into the room. The boys' three companions rose quietly from their seats; the woman with the heavy-lidded eyes looked up at Crouch and called, "The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!"

But the boy was trying to fight off the dementors, even though Harry and I could see their cold, draining power starting to affect him. The crowd was jeering, some of them on their feet, as the woman swept out of the dungeon, and the boy continued to struggle.

"I'm your son!" he screamed up at Crouch. "I'm your son!"

"You are no son of mine!" Mr. Crouch bellowed, his eyes bulging suddenly. "I have no son!"

The wispy witch beside him gave a great gasp and slumped in her seat. She had fainted. Crouch appeared not to have noticed.

"Take them away!" Crouch roared at the dementors, spit flying from his mouth. "Take them away, and may they rot there!"

"Father! Father, I wasn't involved! No! No! Father, please!"

The want to leave started to grow in me just as a voice next to us said, "I think, Harry, Cheyenne, it is time to return to my office."

Harry and I started. We looked around. Then we looked on our other side.

There was an Albus Dumbledore sitting on our right, watching Crouch's son being dragged away by the dementors - and there was an Albus Dumbledore on our left, looking right at us.

"Come," the Dumbledore on our left said, and he put his hand under my elbow. I tightened my hand on Harry's robes and he tightened his arm around my waist. We felt ourselves rising into the air; the dungeon dissolved around us; for a moment, all was blackness, and then we felt as though we had done a slow-motion somersault, suddenly landing flat on our feet, in what seemed like the dazzling light of Dumbledore's sunlit office. The stone basin was shimmering in the cabinet in front of us, and Albus Dumbledore was standing beside us. Suddenly remembering our position, I wriggled out of Harry's grasp and scooted a few feet away from him, my hands behind my back.

"Professor," Harry and I gasped, "we know we shouldn't've - we didn't mean - the cabinet door was sort of open and -"

"I quite understand," Dumbledore said. He lifted the basin, carried it over to his desk, placed it upon the polished top, and sat down in the chair behind it. He motioned for Harry and I to sit down opposite him.

Harry and I did so, staring at the stone basin. The contents had returned to their original, silvery-white state, swirling and rippling beneath our gaze.

"What is this?" Harry asked shakily.

"This? It is called a Pensieve," Dumbledore said. "I sometimes find, and I am sure you both know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind."

"Er..." I said, truthfully knowing that I had never felt anything of the sort.

"At these times," Dumbledore said, indicating the stone basin, "I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form."

"You mean...that stuff's your _thoughts_?" I asked, staring at the swirling white substance in the basin.

"Certainly," Dumbledore said. "Let me show you."

Dumbledore drew his wand out of the inside of his robes and placed the tip into his own silvery hair, near his temple. When he took the wand away, hair seemed to be clinging to it - but then Harry and I saw that it was in fact a glistening strand of the same strange silvery-white substance that filled the Pensieve. Dumbledore added this fresh thought to the basin, and Harry and I, astonished, saw our own faces swimming around the surface of the bowl. Dumbledore placed his long hands on either side of the Peniseve and swirled it, rather as a gold prospector would pan for fragments of gold...and Harry and I saw our faces change smoothly into Snape's, who opened his mouth and spoke to the ceiling, his voice echoing slightly.

"It's coming back...Karkaroff's too...stronger and clearer than ever..."

"A connection I could have made without assistance," Dumbledore sighed, "but never mind." He peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles at Harry and I, both of whom were gaping at Snape's face, which was continuing to swirl around the bowl. "I was using the Peniseve when Mr. Fudge arrived for our meeting and put it away rather hastily. Undoubtedly I did not fasten the cabinet door properly. Naturally, it would have attracted both your attention."

"We're sorry," Harry and I mumbled.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Curiously is not a sin," he said. "But we should exercise caution with our curiousity...yes, indeed..."

Frowning slightly, he prodded the thoughts within the basin with the tip of his wand. Instantly, a figure rose out of it, a plump, scowling girl of about sixteen, who began to revolve slowly, with her feet still in the basin. She took no notice whatsoever of Harry, Professor Dumbledore, or myself. When she spoke, her voice echoed as Snape's had done, as though it were coming from the depths of the stone basin. "He put a hex on me, Professor Dumbledore, and I was only teasing him, sir, I only said I'd seen him kissing Florence behind the greenhouse last Thursday..."

"But why, Bertha," Dumbledore said sadly, looking up at the now silently revolving girl, "why did you have to follow him in the first place?"

"Bertha?" Harry whispered, looking up at her. "Is that - was that Bertha Jorkins?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, prodding the thoughts in the basin again; Bertha sank back into them, and they became silvery and opague once more. "That was Bertha as I remember her at school."

The silvery light from the Pensieve illuminated Dumbledore's face, and it struck Harry and I suddenly how very old he was looking. We knew, of course, that Dumbledore was getting on in years, but somehow we never really thought of Dumbledore as an old man.

"So, Harry, Cheyenne," Dumbledore said quietly. "Before you both got lost in my thoughts, you wanted to tell me something."

"Yes," I said softly. "Professor - we were in Divination just now, and - er - we fell asleep."

I hesitated there, exchanging nervous glances with Harry, wondering if a reprimand was coming, but Dumbledore merely said, "Quite understandable. Continue."

"Well, we had a dream," Harry said. "A dream about Lord Voldemort. He was torturing Wormtail...you know who Wormtail -"

"I do know," Dumbledore said promptly. "Please continue."

"Voldemort got a letter from an owl. He said something like, Wormtail's blunder had been repaired. He said someone was dead. Then he said, Wormtail wouldn't be fed to the snake - there was a snake beside his chair. He said - he said he'd be feeding Harry and I to it, instead. Then he did the Cruciatus Curse on Wormtail - and our scars hurt," I said. "They woke us up, they hurt so badly."

Dumbledore merely looked at us.

"Er - that's all," Harry said.

"I see," Dumbledore said quietly. "I see. Now, have your scars hurt at any other time this year, excepting the time it woke you both up over the summer?"

"No we - wait...how did you know they woke us up over the summer?" I asked, astonished.

"You two are not Sirius's only correspondents," Dumbledore said. "I have also been in contact with him ever since he left Hogwarts last year. It was I who suggested the mountainside cave as the safest place for him to stay."

Dumbledore got up and began walking up and down behind his desk. Every now and then, he placed his wand tip to his temple, removed another shining silver thought, and added it to the Pensieve. The thoughts inside began to swirl so fast that neither Harry nor I could make out anything clearly: It was merely a blur of color.

"Professor?" Harry and I said quietly, after a couple of minutes.

Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked at Harry and I.

"My apologies," he said quietly. He sat back down at his desk.

"D'you - d'you know why our scars' hurting us?"

Dumbledore looked very intently at Harry and I for a moment, and then said, "I have a theory, no more than that...It is my believe that your scars hurt both when Lord Voldemort is near one of you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred."

"But...why?"

"Because you two and he are connected by the curse that failed," Dumbledore said. "Those are no ordinary scars."

"So you think...that dream...did it really happen?"

"It is possible," Dumbledore said. "I would say - probable. Harry, Cheyenne - did either of you see Voldemort?"

"No," Harry and I said together. "Just the back of his chair. But - there wouldn't have been anything to see, would there? We mean, he hasn't got a body, has he? But...but then how could he have held the wand?" Harry finished slowly, looking curiously at Dumbledore, then me.

"How indeed?" Dumbledore muttered. "How indeed..."

Neither Dumbledore, Harry, nor I spoke for a while. Dumbledore was gazing across the room, and, every now and then, placed his wand tip to his temple and added another shining silver thought to the seething mass within the Pensieve.

"Professor," Harry said at last, "do you think he's getting stronger?"

"Voldemort?" Dumbledore said, looking at Harry and I over the Pensieve. It was the characteristic, piercing look Dumbledore had given us on other occasions, and always made Harry and I feel as though Dumbledore was seeing right through us in a way that even Moody's magical eye could not. "Once again, Harry, I can only give you my suspicions."

Dumbledore sighed again, and he looked older, and wearier, than ever.

"The years of Voldemort's ascent to power," he said, "were marked with disappearances. Bertha Jorkins has vanished without a trace in the place where Voldemort was certainly known to be last. Mr. Crouch too has disappeared...within these very grounds. And there was a third disappearance, one which the Ministry, I regret to say, does not consider of any importance, for it concerns a Muggle. His name was Frank Bryce, he lived in the village where Voldemort's father grew up, and he has not been seen since last August. You see, I read the Muggle newspapers, unlike most of my Ministry friends."

Dumbledore looked very seriously at Harry and I.

"These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees - as you both may have heard, while waiting outside my office."

Harry and I nodded. Silence fell between us again, Dumbledore extracting thoughts every now and then. I felt as though Harry and I ought to go, but my curiousity held me in my chair.

"Professor?" I said this time.

"Yes, Cheyenne?" Dumbledore said.

"Um...could I ask you about...that court thing Harry and I were in...in the Pensieve?"

"You could," Dumbledore said heavily. "I attended it many times, but some trails come back to me more clearly than others...particularly now..."

"You know - you know the trail you found us in? The one with Crouch's son? Well...were they talking about Neville's parents?"

Dumbledore gave me a very sharp look, giving Harry the same one as well. "Has Neville never told either of you why he has been brought up by his grandmother?" he asked.

Harry and I shook our heads together, wondering, as we did so, how we could have failed to ask Neville this, in almost four years of knowing him.

"Yes, they were talking about Neville's parents," Dumbledore said. "His father, Frank, was an Auror just like Professor Moody. He and his wife were tortured for information about Voldemort's whereabouts after he lost his powers, as you've both heard."

"So they're dead?" Harry asked quietly.

"No," Dumbledore said, his voice full of a bitterness neither Harry nor I had heard there before. "They are insane. They are both in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I believe Neville visits them, with his grandmother, during the holidays. They do not recognize him."

Horror threaded through me. I'd never known...never, in four years, bothered to find out...

"The Longbottoms were very popular," Dumbledore said. "The attacks on them came after Voldemort's fall from power, just when everyone thought they were safe. Those attacks caused a wave of fury such as I have never known. The Ministry was under great pressure to catch those who had done it. Unfortunately, the Longbottoms' evidence was - given their condition - none too reliable."

"Then Mr. Crouch's son might not have been involved?" Harry said slowly.

Dumbledore shook his head.

"As to that, I have no idea."

Harry and I sat in silence once more, watching the contents of the Pensieve swirl. There were two more questions I knew we were both burning to ask...but they concerned the guilt of living people...

"Um," I said, "Mr. Bagman..."

"...has never been accused of any Dark activity since," Dumbledore finished calmly.

"Right," I said hastily, staring at the contents of the Pensieve again, which was swirling more slowly now that Dumbledore had stopped adding thoughts. "And...um..."

But the Pensieve seemed to be asking my question for me. Snape's face was swimming on the surface again. Dumbledore glanced down into it, and then up at Harry and I again.

"No more has Professor Snape," he said.

I looked into Dumbledore's light blue eyes, and the thing Harry and I really wanted to know spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?"

Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for a few seconds, held my gaze just as long, and then said, "That, Harry, Cheyenne, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself."

I knew then that the interview was over; Dumbledore did not look angry, yet there was a finality in his tone that told Harry and I it was time to go. I stood with Harry and Dumbledore pulled himself up as well.

"Harry, Cheyenne," he said as we reached the door. "Please do not speak about Neville's parents to anybody else. He has the right to let people know, when he's ready."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, turning to leave with me.

"And -"

Harry and I looked back. Dumbledore was standing over the Pensieve, his face lit from beneath by its silvery spots of light, looking older than ever. He stared at us for a moment, and then said, "Good luck with the third task."


	31. The Third Task

**Chapter Thirty-One**

**The Third Task**

"Dumbledore reckons You-Know-Who's getting stronger again as well?" Ron whispered.

Everything Harry and I had seen in the Pensieve, nearly everything Dumbledore had told and shown us afterward, we had now shared with Ron and Hermione - and, of course, with Sirius, to whom Harry and I had sent an owl the moment we had left Dumbledore's office. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sat up late in the common room once again that night, talking it all over until my and Harry's minds were reeling, until we understood what Dumbledore had meant about a head becoming so full of thoughts that it would have been a relief to siphon them off.

Ron stared into the common room fire. Harry and I thought we saw Ron shiver slightly, even though the evening was warm.

"And he trusts Snape?" Ron asked. "He really trusts Snape, even though he knows he was a Death Eater."

"Yes," Harry and I said.

Hermione had not spoken for ten minutes. She was sitting with her forehead in her hands, staring at her knees. I thought she too looked as though she could have done with a Pensieve.

"Rita Skeeter," she muttered finally.

"How can you be worrying about her now?" Ron said, in utter disbelief.

"I'm not worrying about her," Hermione said to her knees. "I'm just thinking...remember what she said to me in the Three Broomsticks? 'I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl.' This is what she meant, isn't it? She reported this trial, she knew he'd passed information to the Death Eaters. And Winky too, remember...'Ludo Bagman's a bad wizard.' Mr. Crouch would have been furious he got off, he would have talked about it at home."

"Yeah, but Bagman didn't pass information on purpose, did he?"

Hermione shrugged.

"And Fudge reckons _Madame Maxime_ attacked Crouch?" Ron said, turning back to Harry and I.

"Yeah," Harry said, "but he's only saying that because Crouch disappeared near the Beauxbatons carriage."

"We never thought of her, did we?" Ron said slowly. "Mind you, she's definitely got giant blood, and she doesn't want to admit it -"

"Of course she doesn't," Hermione said sharply, looking up. "Look what happened to Hagrid when Rita found out about his mother. Look at Fudge, jumping to conclusions about her, just because she's part giant. Who needs that sort of prejudice? I'd probably say I had big bones if I knew that's what I'd get for telling the truth."

I looked down at my watch. "Oh no! We haven't done any practicing!" I said, shocked. "We were going to do the Impediment Curse! We'll have to do it tomorrow..."

Hermione gasped, "Chey's right! We will have to really get down to it tomorrow! Come on, Harry, Cheyenne, you both need to get some sleep."

Hermione ushered me upstairs and I allowed myself to be steered up to our dormitory. As I pulled on my pajamas, I looked out the window, thinking about Neville. Harry and I had been true to our word to Dumbledore and had not told either Ron nor Hermione about Neville's parents. As I crawled into my four-poster and took off my glasses, I imagined how it must feel to have parents still living but unable to recognize me. I often got sympathy from strangers for being an orphan, but as I thought more and more about Neville and his parents, the more I felt a flush of anger and hate toward the people who had tortured Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom...I remembered the jeers of the crowd as Crouch's son and his companions had been dragged from the court by the dementors...I understood how they had felt...Then I remembered the milk white face of the screaming boy and realized with a jolt that he had died a year later...Not even a criminal deserved a fate like that, in my opinion...

It was Voldemort, I thought, staring up at the canopy of my bed in the darkness, it all came back to Voldemort...He was the one who had torn these families apart, who had ruined all these lives...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

During the next few weeks, I felt guilt and remorse in my heart at the great loss of studying Ron and Hermione had to be going through now; they should be studying for their exams, which I knew would finish on the day of the third task, but they put almost all their efforts into helping Harry and I prepare. It had to be really inconvenient ...

"Don't worry about it," Hermione said shortly when Harry and I pointed this out to them and said we didn't mind practicing on our own for a while, "at least we'll get top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts. We'd never have found out about all these hexes in class."

"Good training for when we're all Aurors," Ron said excitedly, attempting the Impediment Curse on a wasp that had buzzed into the room and making it stop dead in midair.

The mood in the castle as we entered June became excited and tense again. Everyone was looking forward to the third task, which would take place a week before the end of term. Harry and I were practicing hexes at every available moment. We felt more confident about this task than either of the others. Difficult and dangerous though it would undoubtedly be, Moody was right: Harry and I had managed to find our way past monstrous creatures and enchanted barriers before now, and this time we had some notice, some chance to prepare ourselves for what lay ahead.

Tired of walking in on Harry, Hermione, Ron, and I all over the school, Professor McGonagall had given us permission to use the empty Transfiguration classroom at lunchtimes. Harry had soon mastered the Impediment Curse, a spell to slow down and obstruct attackers, which I still had difficulty with; the Reductor Curse, which would enable us to blast solid objects out of our way; and the Four-Point Spell, a useful discovery of my and Hermione's that would make our wands point due north, therefore enabling us to check whether we were going in the right direction within the maze. Harry was still having trouble with the Shield Charm, though. This charm was supposed to cast a temporary invisible wall around him that deflected minor curses; Hermione managed to shatter it with a well-placed Jelly-Legs Jinx, and I had to help Harry wobble over to a chair to wait for ten minutes afterward before Hermione had looked up the counter-jinx.

"You're both still doing really well, though," Hermione said encouragingly, looking down our list and crossing off those spells we had already learned. "Some of these are bound to come in handy."

"Come and look at this," Ron said, who was standing by the window. He was staring down onto the grounds. "What's Malfoy doing?"

Harry, Hermione, and I went to see. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in the shadow of a tree below. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be keeping a lookout; both were smirking. Malfoy was holding his hand up to his mouth and speaking into it.

"He looks like he's using a walkie-talkie," Harry said curiously.

"He can't be," Hermione and I said, "We've told you, those sorts of things don't work around Hogwarts. Come on, Harry, Chey," she added briskly, turning away from the window and moving back into the middle of the room, "let's try that Shield Charm again, Harry."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sirius was sending daily owls now. Like Hermione, he seemed to want to concentrate on getting Harry and I through the last task before they concerned themselves with anything else. He reminded Harry and I in every letter that whatever might be going on outside the walls of Hogwarts was not either my or Harry's responsibility, nor was it within either of our power to influence it.

_If Voldemort is really getting stronger again, _he wrote,_ my priority is to ensure both your safety. He cannot hope to lay hands on either of you while you are under Dumbledore's protection, but all the same, take no risks: Concentrate on getting through that maze safely, and then we can turn our attention to other matters._

My and Harry's nerves mounted as June the twenty-fourth drew closer, but they were not as bad as those we had felt before the first and second tasks. For one thing, we were confident that, this time, we had done everything in our power to prepare for the task. For another, this was the final hurdle, and however well or badly we did, the tournament would at last be over, which would be an enormous relief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Breakfast was a very noisy affair at the Gryffindor table on the morning of the third task. The post owls appeared, bringing Harry and I a good-luck card from Sirius. It was only a piece of parchment, folded over and bearing a muddy paw print on its front, but Harry and I appreciated it all the same. A screech owl arrived for Hermione, carrying her morning copy of the _Daily Prophet_ as usual. She unfolded the paper, glanced at the front page, and spat out a mouthful of pumpkin juice all over it.

"What?" Harry, Ron, and I said together, staring at her.

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly, trying to shove the paper out of sight, but Ron grabbed it. He stared at the headline and said, "No way. Not today. That old _cow_."

"What?" Harry asked. "Rita Skeeter again?"

"No," Ron said, and just like Hermione, he attempted to push the paper out of sight.

"It's about us, isn't it?" I said.

"No," Ron said, in an entirely unconvincing tone.

But before either Harry or I could demand to see the paper, Draco Malfoy shouted across the Great Hall from the Slytherin table.

"Hey, Potter! _Power!_ How're your heads? You both feeling all right? Sure you're not going to go berserk on us?"

Malfoy was holding a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ too. Slytherins up and down the table were sniggering, twisting in their seats to see my and Harry's reactions.

"Let us see it," Harry said to Ron. "Give it here, now."

Reluctantly, Ron handed us the newspaper. Harry turned it over and we found ourselves staring at our own picture, beneath the banner headline:

**HARRY POTTER AND CHEYENNE POWER**

**"DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS"**

The duo who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unstable and possibly dangerous, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_. Alarming evidence has recently come to light about Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power's strange behavior, which casts doubts upon their suitability to compete in a demanding competition like the Triwizard Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts School.

Potter and Power, the _Daily Prophet_ can exclusively reveal, regularly collapse at school, and are often heard to complain of pain in the scars on their foreheads (relics of the curse with which You-Know-Who attempted to kill them). On Monday last, midway through a Divination lesson, your _Daily Prophet_ reporter witnessed Potter and Power storming from the class, both claiming that their scars hurt too badly for them to continue studying.

Top experts at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries say it is possible that both Potter's and Power's brains were affected by the attack inflicted upon them by You-Know-Who, and that their insistence that their scars are still hurting are an expression of their deep-seated confusion.

"They both might even just be pretending," one of the specialists said. "This could just be a plea for attention."

The _Daily Prophet_, however, has managed to unearth some worrying facts about Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power that Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, has been carefully concealing from the wizarding public.

"Both Potter and Power can speak Parseltongue," Draco Malfoy reveals, a Hogwarts fourth year. "There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years back, and most people thought that Potter and Power were behind them, especially after they saw them lose their tempers at a dueling club and set a snake on another boy. It was all hushed up, though. But they've both made friends with werewolves and giants as well. We think they'd do anything for a bit of power."

Parseltongue, or the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parseltongue of our time is none other than You-Know-Who himself. One member of the Dark Force Defense League, who has requested to remain nameless, stated he would regard any wizard with the ability to speak Parseltongue "as worthy of investigation. Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anyone who could converse with a snake of any kind, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with a lot of evildoers." Likewise, "anyone who does seek the company of any such vicious creatures like werewolves and giants would often appear to have a definite fondness for violence."

Albus Dumbledore should seriously consider whether a duo such as this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Some fear Potter and Power might resort to the Dart Arts in their desperation to win the tournament and the third task, which takes place this very evening.

"Well, she's really gone off on us a bit, hasn't she?" I said lightly as Harry folded up the paper.

At the Slytherin table across the hall, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were laughing at us, tapping their heads with their fingers, pulling grotesquely mad faces, and waggling their tongues like they were snakes.

"How exactly did she know both your scars hurt in Divination?" Ron said in disbelief. "She couldn't have been there to have heard you -"

"The window was open," Harry said. "I opened it so Chey and I could breath a little."

"You were all at the top of North Tower!" Hermione said. "Neither of your voices could have possibly carried all the way down to the grounds!"

"Well, you're the one who's supposed to be researching magical ways of bugging!" Harry said. "Why not tell Chey and I how she managed to do it!"

"I've been trying my best!" Hermione said. "But I...um...but..."

A sudden odd, dreamy expression came over Hermione's features. Slowly, she raised a hand and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked, frowning deeply at her.

"Yes, of course," Hermione said rather breathlessly. She ran her fingers through her hair again, then held her hand up to her mouth, as though she was speaking into an invisible walkie-talkie. Harry, Ron, and I glanced at each other nervously.

"I just had an idea," Hermione said, staring into space. "I think I know how...because no one would have been able to see...even Moody...and she'd have been able to get onto the window ledge...even though she's not allowed...she's _definitely_ not allowed...I think we've finally got her! I just need two seconds in the library, just to be sure!"

Without another word, Hermione seized her school bag and dashed out of the Great Hall.

"Oi!" Ron called after her. "We've got our History of Magic exam in about tent minutes! Blimey..." he said, turning back to Harry and I once more, "she has to really hate Rita Skeeter if she's willing to risk missing the start of an exam. What are you both going to do in Binn's class - read again?"

Harry and I had been excused from end-of-term tests the moment our names had come out of the Goblet of Fire, so we usually just sat in the back of every examination classroom and poured over books to find new hexes we could use in the third task.

"Yeah, we suppose so..." Harry replied with a sigh; however, at that very moment, Professor McGonagall came walking along the Gryffindor table toward us.

"Potter, Power, the champions are gathering in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast," she said.

"But...but Professor, the task doesn't take place until tonight!" I exclaimed in surprise as Harry accidentally spilled scrambled eggs down his front.

"I am quite aware of that, Power," she said. "However, the champions' families are invited to watch the final task, you know. This could be a chance for you both to greet them."

She moved away. Harry and I stared blankly after her.

"Does she really expect the Dursleys to turn up?" I heard Harry ask Ron rather blankly.

"I dunno," Ron said. "Harry, Chey, I'd better hurry or I'm going to be late for Binns' test. See you later."

Harry and I finished breakfast together in the emptying Great Hall. We watched as Fleur Delacour got up from the Ravenclaw table and joined Cedric as he crossed to the side chamber and entered. Not too shortly afterward, Krum slouched off to join them. Harry and I stayed where we were, not really wanting to go into the chamber, knowing we had no family - no family that could turn up to see either of us risk our lives, anyway. We were our only family...However, as we got up, discussing going to the library to research more hexes, the door of the side chamber opened, and Cedric stuck his head out.

"Hey Harry, Cheyenne, they're waiting for you two!"

Completely perplexed and confused, Harry and I looked at each other and got up. The Dursleys could not possibly be here, could they? They hated anything to do with magic and would likely rather be jinxed for life then be somewhere that surges with the stuff. Making our way across the Hall, Harry and I each took a deep breath and opened the door into the chamber.

As we walked in the door, we came upon Cedric with his parents. Viktor Krum, meanwhile, stood in a corner, conversing in rapid Bulgarian with his dark-haired mother and father. Opposite us, Fleur was jabbering away in French with her mother, and Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, was holding her mother's hand. She waved at Harry and I, who waved back, smiling. Then we saw Mrs. Weasley and Bill standing in front of the fireplace, beaming at us.

"Surprise!" Mrs. Weasley said excitedly as we both smiled widely and made our way over. "We thought we'd come and watch you two, Harry, Cheyenne!" She bent and kissed us each on the cheek.

"Are you both all right?" Bill asked, grinning at us and shaking our hands. "Charlie wanted to come, but he couldn't get any time off. He said you two were incredible against the Horntail."

Fleur Delacour, I pointed out to Harry, was eyeing Bill with great interest over her mother's shoulder. I could tell she had absolutely no objection whatsoever to long hair or earrings with fangs.

"This is quite nice of you," Harry muttered to Mrs. Weasley. "Chey and I thought for a moment - the Dursleys -"

"Hmm," Mrs. Weasley hummed, pursing her lips. Harry and I knew she'd always kept herself from criticizing the Dursleys in front of us, but we always saw her eyes flash every time they were mentioned.

"It's great being back here," Bill said then, looking about the chamber (the Fat Lady's friend, Violet, winked at him from her frame). "I haven't seen this place in five years. Oh, Harry, Cheyenne, is that picture of that mad knight still around? Sir Cadogan?"

"Yeah, he's still here! He's funny," I said with a giggle, remembering meeting Sir Cadogan last year.

"And the Fat Lady?" Bill asked.

"She was here in my time," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling. "Oh, she gave me such a talking to one night when I got back to the dormitory at four o'clock in the morning -"

"And what exactly where you doing out of your dormitory at four in the morning?" Bill asked his mother, surveying her with amazement.

A twinkle came into Mrs. Weasley's eyes as she grinned.

"Your father and I had been out for a nighttime stroll," she said. "The caretaker back in our days was Apollyon Pringle and he caught Arthur out of bed. He's still got the marks."

"Fancy giving us a tour, Harry, Cheyenne?" Bill said, turning back to us.

"Yeah, of course," Harry said as I nodded in agreement. We made our way toward the chamber door leading back into the Great Hall. As we were passing Amos Diggory, he looked around.

"There you two are, are you?" he said, looking Harry and I up and down in turn. "I bet neither of you is feeling quite as full of yourselves now that Cedric has caught up with you on points, are you?"

"Excuse us?" I said uncertainly.

"Ignore him," Cedric told us in a low voice, frowning at his father. "Ever since Rita Skeeter wrote that article about the Triwizard Tournament, he's been a little mad. He didn't like that she made you two out as the only Hogwarts champions."

"Neither of them bothered to correct her, though, did they?" Amos Diggory said, loudly enough for both Harry and I to hear as we started out the door with Mrs. Weasley and Bill. "Still...you'll show them both, Ced. You've beaten them once before, haven't you?"

"Rita Skeeter's always gone out of her way to cause trouble, Amos!" Mrs. Weasley snapped back at him angrily. "I'd've thought you knew that, working at the Ministry!"

Mr. Diggory looked to want to say something angrily back, but his wife stopped him with a hand on his arm. He shrugged and turned away.

Harry and I had a really enjoyable morning walking over the sunny grounds with Bill and Mrs. Weasley, showing them the Beauxbatons carriage and the Durmstrang ship in turn. Mrs. Weasley became fascinated with the Whomping Willow, which had been planted after she and Mr. Weasley had left school. Afterward, she reminisced eagerly about the gamekeeper before Hagrid, a man by the name of Ogg.

"How's Percy, by the way?" Harry asked as we made our way around the greenhouses.

"Not too good," Bill said.

"He's been very upset lately," Mrs. Weasley said, glancing around as she lowered her voice. "The Ministry's been wanting to keep Mr. Crouch's disappearance a secret, but Percy has been hauled in for questioning about the instructions he's been sent in by Mr. Crouch. They seem to think they weren't really written by him. Percy's been under a lot of strain. Cornelius Fudge is going to be the fifth judge for the tournament tonight since they won't let Percy fill in for Mr. Crouch anymore."

We returned to the castle for lunch at noon.

"Mum - Bill?" Ron said, looking stunned as he joined us at the Gryffindor table. "What're you two doing here?"

"We've come to watch Harry and Cheyenne in the last task!" Mrs. Weasley said brightly. "I must say, it makes a lovely change, not having having to cook. How was your exam?"

"Oh...um, okay," Ron said. "I couldn't remember all the goblin rebels' names, though, so I just invented a few. It's all right," he said, seeing his mother's stern look as he helped himself to a Cornish pasty, "they're all usually called stuff like Bodrod the Bearded and Urg the unclean; it wasn't too hard."

Fred, George, and Ginny came to sit with us as well, and Harry and I were having such a good time we felt as though we were right back at the Burrow; we even forgot to worry about the task that evening, and it wasn't until Hermione appeared halfway through lunch that we remembered that she had had a brainwave about Rita Skeeter.

"Are you going to tell us -?"

Hermione shook her head to stop him as she glanced nervously at Mrs. Weasley.

"Hello, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley said, rather more stiffly than was usual.

"Hello," Hermione said, smile faltering at the cold look Mrs. Weasley was wearing.

Harry and I looked between the two before he spoke, "Mrs. Weasley, you don't believe that rubbish written in _Witch Weekly_ by Rita Skeeter, do you? Because Hermione isn't my girlfriend."

"Oh?" Mrs. Weasley said, relaxing. "No - of course I didn't!"

But she became considerably warmer toward Hermione afterward.

Harry, Bill, Mrs. Weasley, and I spent the afternoon taking a nice long walk around the castle, then returned to the castle when it was time for the evening feast. When we arrived, Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge were sitting at the staff table. Bagman was looking quite cheerful, while Cornelius Fudge, who was sitting next to Madame Maxime, was looking stern and wasn't talking. Madame Maxime had her eyes on her plate, and they looked rather red. Hagrid kept glancing down the table at her.

There were more courses than usual that evening, but Harry and I, starting to feel really nervous now, didn't eat too much. As the enchanted ceiling over our heads started to fade from blue to a dark, dusky purple, Dumbledore rose from his chair at the staff table, and silence filled the Hall.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes' time, I will ask you all to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Now, will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium."

Harry and I got up, Fred right behind us. The Gryffindors all along the table applauded us as Fred kissed me good-luck; the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione all wished us good luck, and we headed out of the Great Hall along with Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor.

"Are you both feeling all right, Harry, Cheyenne?" Bagman asked as we went down the stone steps onto the grounds. "Confident?"

"We're okay," Harry responded. It was sort of true; we were both nervous, but we kept going over all the hexes and spells we had been practicing together as we walked, the knowledge that we could remember them all making us feel better.

We walked onto the Quidditch field, which was completely unrecognizable now. All around the edge ran a twenty-foot-high hedge, the entrance a large gap right in front of us. The passage beyond looked dark and creepy.

The stands around us had already begun to fill after just five minutes; excited voices filled the air, accompanied by the constant rumble of feet as the hundreds of students filed into their seats. Overhead, the sky had turned a deep, clear blue, the first bright, winking stars already beginning to appear. Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick walked into the stadium then and approached Bagman and us champions. Except for Hagrid, all of them wore large, red, luminous stars on their hats. Hagrid had them on the back of his moleskin vest.

"We're going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," Professor McGonagall said to us champions. "If one of you faces difficulty, and wants to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you all understand?"

We all nodded together.

"Off you go, then!" Bagman said brightly to the four teachers.

"Good luck, Harry, Cheyenne," Hagrid whispered ot us, and the four of them walked off in different directions so they could station themselves around the maze. Bagman pointed his wand at his throat, muttered, _"Sonorus,"_ and his magically magnified voice echoed over the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let's have a reminder of how the points currently stand! Tied in first, all with eight-five points - Mr. Cedric Diggory and the P-team themselves, Mr. Harry Potter and Miss Cheyenne Power, all from Hogwarts School!" The cheers and applause from the stands sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering off into the darkening sky. "In second place, with eight points - Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!" Another round of applause rang through the stands. "And in third place - Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!"

Halfway up the stands, Harry and I could just be able to see Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Ron, and Hermione applauding Fleur politely. We waved up at them together and they returned the waves, beaming at the two of us.

"On my whistle, Cedric, Harry, and Cheyenne!" Bagman said. "Three - two - one -"

A short blast rang through the air, and Harry, Cedric, and I ran forward into the maze.

Our path was cast into dark shadows, and, from the moment we'd entered the maze, whether through height, width, or magical enchantment, the hedges silenced the sounds of the surrounding crowd. It almost felt like we were underwater again. From right next to me, I could hear the rustle of robes, followed by Harry muttering, _"Lumos,"_ Cedric's voice echoing the spell right behind us. I pulled my wand out next, and said the spell a third time to better light our path, too.

We came to a fork in the path after about fifty yards and looked at each other.

"See you," Harry said to Cedric as he took my hand and we took the left fork. Cedric took the right.

Bagman's whistle rang through the silent air a second time, meaning Krum had now entered the maze. Harry and I picked up our pace, sprinting along our chosen path now, which, at the time, seemed completely deserted. We turned right and sprinted on, holding each other's hands, our wands held aloft, trying to light as much of our path as we could. Still, we encountered nothing.

A third whistle blast split the air. Now all the champions were inside the maze.

That old feeling of being watched started creeeping up on us now, and we kept glancing nervously behind us. As the sky overhead darkened to navy, the shadows around us darkened as well. We reached a second fork.

_"Point me,"_ Harry whispered to his wand, adjusting his hand so it lay flat on his palm.

The wand spun around once and then stopped, pointing toward our right, which was just a solid hedge. We knew that way was north, but we also knew we had to head northwest if we wanted to reach the center of the maze. Harry and I agreed it best if we just went left now and then took the next fork right when we came to it.

We continued down our path still with no obstacles, and when we reached a right turn we took it and once more found our path unblocked. My nerves had started to build more and more now and unease had started to knot in my stomach at the lack of obstacles we met. Harry and I should have at least met some sort of blockage by now. The maze seemed to be luring us into a false sense of security, which only served to fray my nerves even more. Movement suddenly sounded from behind us, making us jump and whirl around, our wands raised in preparation to attack. However, the lights from our wands only fell upon Cedric, who had just appeared out of a path on our right-hand side. He looked severly shaken and the sleeve of his robes was smoking.

"It was Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts!" he hissed. "They're enormous now - I only just managed to get away!"

With that, he shook his head and dove out of sight along another path. Wanting to put some distance between us and the skrewts, Harry and I hurried along. Then, as we turned a corner, we saw a dementor gliding toward us. Twelve feet tall with it's face hidden in its hood, we saw its rotting, scabbed hands outstretched toward us as it advanced, sensing its way blindly toward us. Clammy coldness settled around us as we heard its rattling breath, but we knew what we had to do to stop it.

Summoning the happiest thought I had, I concentrated with everything I had on the thought of getting out of the maze with Harry and celebrating with Ron and Hermione. As one, Harry and I raised our wands, and said, _"Expecto Patronum!"_

A silver stag and canine burst from the ends of our wands and charged toward the dementor, which scrambled back and tripped over the hem of its robes...but wait, dementors didn't stumble!

"Hang on!" Harry shouted as we advanced on it in the wake of our silver Patronuses. "You're not a dementor, you're a boggart! _Riddikulus!"_

A loud crack rent the air, and the shape-shifter burst into a wisp of smoke. The silver stag and wolf faded from sight. Wishing they could have stayed to keep us company, Harry and I hurried on, moving as quickly and quietly as we could, listening with all our might, our wands held high once more.

Left...right...left again...Twice we ran into dead ends. Using the Four-Point Spell again, we found we were heading too far east and we turned back, took a right, and saw an odd golden mist floating ahead of us.

Keeping me behind him, Harry led the way cautiously forward, pointing his wand's beam at it. It looked like an enchantment of some kind. Maybe we could blast it away with a spell.

_"Reducto!"_ he said.

However, the spell only shot straight through the mist, leaving it intact. We probably should have known better; the Reductor Curse was supposed to be used for solid objects. Would something bad happen if we walked through the mist? Should we take the risk or double back?

We were still debating what to do when the silence was suddenly shattered by a scream.

"Fleur?" Harry and I called.

Silence followed. We stared around us silently. What happened to her? It sounded like her scream had come from somewhere ahead. Taking a deep breath together, we bolted through the enchanted mist.

The world around us turned upside down. Harry and I were suddenly hanging from the ground, our hair falling away from our faces and necks, our glasses dangling off our noses, threatening to fall into the bottomless sky. I clutched my glasses to the end of my nose, scared and confused. It felt like my feet had been glued to the grass, which was now the ceiling. Below us stretched the endless star-spangled sky. It felt like if I tried to lift one of my feet I'd fall into the heavens, never to be seen or heard from again.

_All right, just think about this,_ I said, trying to think clearly as the blood pounded behind my ears. _Think..._

However, none of the spells either of us had practiced had been designed to combat the sudden reversal of ground and sky. Should one of us try and lift one of our feet? My head pounded with the rush of blood to my brain. At this point, we had two choices - one, try and move, or two send up red sparks, get rescued, and get disqualified from the task.

Clenching my eyes shut so I wouldn't be able to see the endless space below us, I wrenched my right foot up as hard as I could.

Immediately, the world righted itself again and I fell forward onto the gloriously solid ground on my knees. Temporarily numb with relief, I took a deep breath to steady myself before I pulled myself to my feet and grabbed Harry's arm to help him up again as well. We hurried onward, looking back at the golden mist over our shoulders. It twinkled innocently at us in the bright moonlight.

Pausing at the junction between two paths, we looked about for some sign of Fleur, so sure it had been her that had screamed. What type of creatures had she met? Was she badly hurt? There wasn't a single sign of a red spark and I wondered vaugely if she had managed to get herself out of trouble or if she was in so much trouble that she was unable to use her wand... Taking the right fork, my feeling of unease grew...yet the thought of one champion being out did not fail to cross my mind...

The cup felt much closer now, and by the sound of it, Fleur was no longer in the running to get it. We'd managed to get this far, right? What would happen if we actually managed to win? Fleetingly, the image of Harry and I raising the Triwizard Cup in front of the rest of the school reached me, for the first time since we'd found ourselves as champions...Would we be able to actually win?

Ten minutes passed without incident and we kept meeting dead end after dead end. We took the wrong turns twice and then, finally, we found ourselves a new route and jogged along it, our wandlight waving. Our distorted shadows danced on the hedges surrounding us, giving a slightly creepy feeling. We rounded another corner and my heart dropped into my stomach: we'd just come face to face with a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Cedric wasn't kidding...the thing was **enormous!** Now standing at ten feet tall, it'd adopted the look of a giant scorpion with it's long stinger curled tightly over it's back. The light from our wands glinted omniously off its thick armor. Harry and I pointed our wands at it.

_"Stupefy!'_

The spell had no affect, as it rebounded off the skrewt's armor right back at us; Harry grabbed my shoulders as we ducked, just in time too, but the smell of burnt hair wafted around us; the spells had singed the tops of our heads. A blast of fire issued from the skrewt's end and it flew toward us.

_"Impedimenta!"_ Harry yelled. The spell only hit the skrewt's armor again and ricocheted off; I grabbed Harry's arms and pulled him backward with me as I staggered back. My feet caught on something and I fell back, taking him with me. Harry landed on top of me, knocking the wind from my lungs and I gasped for breath as Harry raised his wand again. _"IMPEDIMENTA!"_

The skrewt stopped just inches from us - Harry had finally managed to hit it on its fleshy, shell-less underside. Harry rolled off me and pushed himself to his feet before hauling me up as well and dragging me away in the opposite direction - we had to get as far away from the skrewt as possible, knowing the Impediment Curse wasn't permanent and that the skrewt would no doubt be regaining feeling in its legs at any second.

Taking a left path, Harry and I hit a dead end, doubled back, took a right, and hit another dead end. I finally told Harry we had to stop to catch our breath and check our direction. I performed the Four-Point Spell myself, we retraced our steps and then chose a path that would take us northwest to find the cup.

We were sprinting along our new path no more than a minute or two when I thought I heard something running parallel to our path and I slowed, grabbing Harry's arm to stop him, too, but he was already slowing. Cedric's frantic voice reached us over the hedge.

"What are you doing?!" Cedric was yelling. "What the hell d'you think you're doing?"

Krum's deeper voice sounded.

_"Crucio!"_

Cedric's yells suddenly filled the air, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Terrified, I sprinted up the path again with Harry right at my heels, trying to find a way onto Cedric's path. Frustrated and worried, Harry and I tried the Reductor Curse on the hedge. While not wholly effective, it left a small burnt hole in the hedge that we started to kick in, breaking away the thick brambles and branches until there was a wide enough opening; he struggled through first and then reached back to pull me through. Ignoring our torn robes, we each looked around and spotted Cedric and Krum on our right. Krum was standing over Cedric, who was jerking and twitching on the grass.

"Krum, stop it!" I shouted, sprinting toward him. "Krum!" my shouts made him lift his head and he turned abruptly and started to run.

_"Stupefy!"_ Harry yelled from behind me.

The spell whizzed by me, the wind ruffling my hair, and hit Krum square in the back; he froze in his tracks and fell face-forward in the grass, where he lay completely still, like a statue. I skid to a stop next to Cedric, who was no longer twitching and was just lying on the grass, panting, hands over his face.

"Cedric, what happened? Are you all right?" I asked softly as Harry stopped on his other side. We each grabbed an arm and helped Cedric unsteadily to his feet, feeling him shaking.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm all right..." Cedric panted. "I - I just...I can't believe it...he crept up on me...I heard him coming and turned, and he had his wand pointed at me..."

We all turned to look down at Krum.

"But...but why would he do this? I - I never...all the time I spent around Krum...he seemed like such a great guy..." I said, feeling hurt and betrayed, thinking about what Krum had just done. All the times Hermione and I had spent around him after the Yule Ball...it made me question everything; could Krum have attacked us at any time like he'd just done to Cedric?

"Did you hear Fleur scream earlier on?" Harry asked.

"Yeah..." Cedric said, frowning deeply. "D'you reckon Krum got her too?"

"It could be possible..." Harry said slowly.

"Should...should we just leave him here, then?" Cedric muttered.

"No," I said firmly, "Even if he did something like this, he doesn't deserve to be eaten by a skrewt...we should sent up red sparks."

Cedric muttered something indistinctive to himself, raised his wand, and sent a shower of red sparks into the air. They hovered high above Krum, marking the spot where he lay.

Harry, Cedric, and I stood in the darkness for a moment, looking about us silently. Then, Cedric spoke again, "Well...s'pose we'd better go on then..."

"Wh -?" Harry said. "Oh...yeah...right..."

It was an extremely awkward moment. We had briefly united with Cedric against Krum, but now that we had taken him down, the fact that we were opponents came rushing back with a vengence. Proceeding up the dark path without a word, Harry and I took the next left turn while Cedric turned right and the sounds of his footsteps slowly faded into the background.

Harry and I continued onward, using the Four-Point Spell whenever we needed to check our direction. It was just us and Cedric now and that competitive feeling was starting to build, our desire to reach the cup first burning hotter and stronger than ever. I was still in disbelief about Krum, however, thinking about all the times I'd hung out with him and Hermione, about the times Hermione had spent with him...alone! If he did something like this to our other competitors, than surely he wouldn't have hesitated to do the same to Hermione and I if it'd crossed his mind. Or...or could he have been 'influenced' by someone else to get rid of the others? Could this be part of that person's plan? The one that put my and Harry's names in the goblet in the first place? Even if that wasn't true, Krum couldn't have wanted the Triwizard Cup that badly, could he've?

The darkness around us had started to deepen, making us sure we were nearing our goal and we kept hitting more and more dead-ends. As we were striding down a long, straight path, we spotted movement once more, and the beams from our wandlight hit an extraordinary creature, one we recognized from a picture in our _Monster Book of Monsters._

It was a sphinx. With the body of an over-grown lion, it's paws were huge and tipped with razor sharp claws. Its tail was long and slender, ending in a puffy brown tuft of fur. Its head, however, was that of a woman with long, almond-shaped eyes, which it turned on Harry and I as we approached. He raised his wand, hesitating, but I put a gentle hand on his shoulder to stop him. The sphinx wasn't crouched ready to attack, but rather, she was pacing the width of the path, blocking our progress. When she spoke, it was in a very deep, hoarse voice.

"You're very near your goal now. The quickest path is past me."

"So...w-will you please let us past?" Harry said softly, but I already knew what the answer would be.

"No, not unless you can answer my riddle," She said, still pacing, which started to put me on edge. "Answer on your first guess - I will let you both pass. If you answer incorrectly, however, I will attack. If you remain silent, I will let you walk away from me unscathed."

I took a deep, steadying breath, readying myself to answer the riddle. While riddles weren't my strongest point, I usually did my best with what I could. I could tell Harry was dreading hearing the riddle since it wasn't his strongest point either. I gently took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance. I would answer this riddle if Harry could not and, if it came down to it, if I could not untangle it, I would back us away from the sphinx unharmed, and we'd work out another way to get to the cup.

"All right," I said to the sphinx, nodding. "May we hear the riddle, please?"

The sphinx sat back on her hunches in the center of the path, and recited the riddle for us:

_First think of the person who lives in disguise,_

_Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies._

_Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend,_

_The middle of middle and end of the end?_

_And finally give me the sound often heard_

_During the search for a hard-to-find word._

_Now string them together, and answer me this,_

_Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?"_

"Ew..." I groaned, sticking out my tongue in disgust, thinking of the many kinds of creatures I would not want to kiss, spiders topping the endless list. Harry, meanwhile, was asking the sphinx to repeat the poem. I went into deep thought, the poem playing again and again in my mind as I tried decode it.

_All right..._ I thought, pursing my lips, _just pick it apart and work out the clues..._

"A person in disguise...who could that...be?" I whispered, looking at Harry, who stared wildly back, "what could be a person that lies...?"

"Um...an...an imposter!" he said, then shook his head, "No...no...that can't be it..."

"A spy, then? Let's come back to that...May we have the next few lines, please?"

She repeated the next couple of lines for us.

" 'Last to mend...' " Harry and I repeated together. "Not really...can't...'middle of middle'...could we have the last couple of lines?"

She gave us the last four lines.

" 'A sound heard when searching for a hard-to-find word,' " Harry said, chewing his lip. "Er...that would be...er...wait, wait - 'er!' Er's a sound!"

The sphinx smiled at us.

"Spy...er...spy...er..." Harry said, beginning to pace the width of the path now. It suddenly clicked. "Wait! Harry, a creature we wouldn't want to kiss...a _spider!"_

The sphinx smiled broadly at us, then got up, stretched, and then moved aside so we could pass.

"Thank you, thank you so much!" I said breathlessly as Harry took my hand and we dashed onward, our hearts lighter now that we had solved the riddle together.

We were close, we just had to be...Our wands were going haywire telling us we were on the right path; we would be fine as long as we met nothing else, we chances would be higher...

Harry and I broke into a full out run. We used the Four-Point Spell again when we met another set of paths and our wands pointed to the right-hand one together. We ran along it and saw a bright light ahead.

Just a hundred yards away, sitting on a plinth was the gleaming Triwizard Cup. Then, out of nowhere, a dark figure hurtled itself out on the path ahead of us.

Cedric sprinted toward the cup as fast as he could and my heart sank unpleasantly; Cedric was going to get to the cup first. Neither of us would be able to catch up, Cedric was taller and had longer legs -

Then, an enormous shadow came over the hedge to our left, moving quickly up the path intersecting with our own; it was moving fast, so fast that Cedric, who, no doubt, had his eyes on the cup, didn't see it and would run straight into it -

"Cedric!" Harry called out. "Look out, it's on your left!"

Cedric jerked around just in time to fly past the thing advancing on him and avoid collision, however, in his haste, he staggered and fell. Cedric's wand flew out of his hand as a giant spider stepped out onto the path and bore down on him.

_"Stupefy!"_ Harry yelled; the spell hit the large, hairy black body with little effect aside from causing the creature to turn and run at us instead. Harry grabbed my shoulder and pushed me aside. I stumbled into the hedge and slid down onto the grass, lifting my eyes to watch my best friend fight one of my worst fears.

_"Stupefy! Impedimenta! Stupefy!"_

The spells had just as little affect as the first - the spider was just too big or too magical to be affected by the spells, which were only egging it on. Eight big, hairy legs filled my vision and the clicking of razor-sharp pincers drowned my eardrums as the spider bore down on us.

In the next moment, I watched as Harry was lifted into the air in the spider's front legs, kicking and flailing madly, trying to hit the spider in the head; his leg hit the pincers and the sound of pincers breaking through flesh and fluids gusting broke the silence. Cedric was yelling now in the background, trying to stun the spider too, but his spell had as much effect as Harry's had. I pushed up, raising my wand and pointing it at the spider too, fury replacing the fear in my heart, _"Expelliarmus!"_

The Disarming Spell finally made the spider drop him, but Harry still fell twelve feet, landing on his injured leg, which buckled beneath him. Without hesitation, he raised his wand, aimed it straight at the spider's underbelly, just as he'd done for the skrewt, and shouted _"Stupefy!"_ at the same second as Cedric.

The spells combined and did the job just one alone could not: The spider keeled over sideways, took down the nearest hedge, and strewed the path with a tangle of long, hairy legs.

"Harry! Cheyenne!" Cedric shouted as I hurried to Harry's side and collapsed next to him, shaking, my face buried in his shoulder, whispering apologizes under my breath. "Are you both all right? Did it fall on either of you?"

"No," Harry answered back, panting, his arm wrapping around my shoulders, trying to calm me down. I lifted my head, looking at his leg, which was bleeding quite perfusely. A thick, gluey secretion from the spider's pincers was splattered on his torn robes. I tried to help him up, but his leg shook under his weight, not wanting to support him. I wrapped an arm loosely around his waist, trying to keep him upright, but he'd been gaining back weight since we'd come here and it was hard to keep him up on my own, so I let him lean partly on the hedge. He was gasping for breath, trying to recompose himself. I looked up.

Just ten feet from where the Triwizard Cup gleamed on it's plinth, Cedric stood, watching us.

"You should take it, Cedric," I said, adjusting my grip on Harry's waist. "Go on, take it, you're right there."

But Cedric didn't move a muscle. He just stood there, looking at us. Then he turned to look at the cup behind him. In the golden light gleaming off the cup, I could see his longing expression. Cedric turned to look at us again; Harry held onto the hedge with one hand, sagging partly against it, his other hand clutching my shoulder while I had one arm around his waist, trying to keep him upright. Cedric took a deep breath.

"No," he said firmly, stubbornly. "You should both take it, you two should win. That's twice you've both saved my neck in here."

"That's not how things are supposed to work here," Harry said, anger lacing through his tone. His leg had to hurt quite badly and I knew his muscles were aching from everything that we had endured up until now, just like mine, but, even after all our efforts, Cedric had beaten us both to it, just as he'd beaten Harry to ask Cho to the Yule Ball. "The one who reaches the cup first wins the tournament and that's you. Chey and I aren't going to win as a team when I have this bum leg."

Cedric stepped closer to the Stunned Spider, moving away from the cup, shaking his head stubbornly.

"No, I can't,"

"Cedric, please, stop being so noble," I pleaded, desperate now. Harry needed to get medical attention for his leg and the quickest way for that to happen was for Cedric to get the cup and get us out of here. This wasn't a time to act honorable. "Please, Cedric, just take the cup so we can get out of here. Hufflepuff hasn't had glory like this in a long time, right? If you won't take it for Hogwarts, take it for Hufflepuff! Gryffindor's had enough glory since Harry and I've come to Hogwarts..."

Cedric watched as I steadied Harry, who still held tight to the hedge, like it was a life-line.

"You two told me about those dragons," Cedric said. "If you hadn't done that, I wouldn't have made it through the first task..."

"We had help on that too," Harry snapped, trying to wrap his robes around his bloody leg to stop the bleeding. "You helped Chey and I with the egg - we're even."

"I...I had help on that egg in the first place," Cedric replied.

"We're still even," I said quickly, frowning at him. I could feel Harry shaking violently beside me and I looked down at him, seeing him trying to test his leg, which shook heavily; it looked like he'd sprained his ankle when he'd fallen.

"You both should've got more points on the second task," Cedric said sadly. "You two stayed behind to get all the hostages back to safety. I should've at least considered that."

"We were the only ones stupid enough to take that mermaid song seriously!" Harry said bitterly. "Cedric, just take the cup!"

"No, I can't and I won't!" Cedric said.

He stepped over the tangled spider legs to join Harry and I, both of us staring at him. Cedric's face was set, his expression hard and determined; he was serious. He was actually walking away from he kind of glory Hufflepuff House hadn't had in centuries.

"Go on," Cedric said, nodding toward the cup, looking as though this was costing him every little ounce of resolution he had, but his face was still set. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest. He wasn't going to back down.

Harry and I looked at once another, then between Cedric and the cup. The image of emerging from the maze with the cup in our hands burned brightly in my mind, clearer than it ever had before, but it was gone almost as soon as it had come. I was still staring at Cedric's shadowed, determined face.

"All three of us," I finally said.

"Excuse me?"

"All three of us will take the cup at the same time. It'll still be a Hogwarts victory, but we'll all tie for it."

Cedric stared at me, then at Harry, uncrossing his arms.

"Are...are you both sure?"

"Of course," Harry said. "We've all helped each other in some way or another, to get through this tournament, haven't we? All three of us got here, so we should all take it together."

For a split second, Cedric looked as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing, and then, a smile crossed his lips.

"You're on," he said. "Come on, let's go."

Cedric helped me prop Harry up and wrapped Harry's free arm around his shoulder, his own arm wrapping around Harry's waist along with mine. We helped him limp toward where the cup stood on its plinth. As soon as we reached it, Harry unwrapped the arm from around my shoulders and all three of us reached forward, holding our hands over the cup's gleaming handles.

"We'll all grab it on three, all right?" I said. "One - two - three -"

Cedric grabbed one handle and Harry and I grabbed the other.

Something jerked behind my navel and my feet immediately left the ground. My hand was suddenly glued to the Triwizard Cup, perched just above Harry's. He and I were being pulled forward in a deafening howl of wind and swirling color, Cedric on his other side.


	32. Flesh, Blood, and Bone

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

**Flesh, Blood, and Bone**

My feet suddenly slammed into the ground and my legs immediately buckled with the abrupt stop. I stumbled forward, my hand finally releasing the Triwizard cup and when I landed on the ground, I rolled a few feet away from where Harry had landed, falling against something hard and cold that I knew would probably have left a bruise. Groaning, I raised my head to look around.

"Where are we?" I heard Harry's voice say from just a few feet away.

Cedric, sprawled parallel to where I lay, shook his head. I scrambled up and pulled Harry to his feet, Cedric helping on his other side. We all looked about.

No longer on the Hogwarts grounds now, we could tell almost immediately that we had probably traveled miles - maybe hundreds of miles - from the school, as even the mountains that surrounded the castle were no where in sight. We stood instead in a dark, overgrown graveyard, the black outline of a small church just barely visible beyond the large yew tree to our right. On a hill that rose to our left, we could just make out the outline of a grand old house.

Cedric glanced down at the Triwizard Cup and then looked again at Harry and I.

"Did anyone tell _either_ of you that the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.

"No, we had no idea..." I said, glancing nervously about, the hair on the back of my neck prickling uneasily. Silence filled the darkened graveyard, giving off an eerie sort of feeling that only make the hair rise higher. "D'you think this is supposed to be apart of the task?"

"I dunno," Cedric said, sounding nervous. "Should we take our wands out, just in case?"

"Yeah," Harry said, sounding glad someone else had suggested it instead of him.

We all pulled out our wands. I kept glancing about, the feeling of unease growing, along with that sense of being watched.

"Someone's coming..." I said softly, unable to stop myself.

I squinted through the darkness, spotting a figure drawing nearer, it's stride steady as it made its way toward us between the graves. I pointed the figure out and Harry's hand tightened on his wand. The darkness was thick enough that neither of us were able to discern a face, but by its posture, we could tell it was carrying something in its arms. The figure was short, a hooded cloak pulled up over his head to hide his face, which explained partly why we couldn't see who it could be. The gap between us continued to steadily close as he came closer and closer - the thing in the figure's arms looked like an infant, or maybe just a bundle of robes...

I lowered my wand some, as did Harry and we looked sideways at Cedric, who shot us each a quizzical look. We all turned back to watch the still approaching figure, which paused beside a towering marble headstone, just six feet from us. A second passed with Cedric, Harry, and I staring at the figure, who neither moved nor spoke.

And then, quite unexpectedly, pain exploded through my scar and my brain reeled in pure agony; my wand slipped through my fingers as I lifted my hands to my face; my legs collapsed and I was suddenly on the grass, curled up in a fedal position, my hands and face buried in my knees, trying to keep myself together.

As though it was far away, a distantly high, cold voice reached me, _"Kill the spare."_

There was a loud, swishing noise, followed by a second voice secreeching, _"Avada Kedavra!"_

A flash of green light filtered through the cracks between my fingers, lighting up the outside of my eyelids. Something heavy fell with a _thud_ to the ground a few feet away; my head pulsed with pain and every nerve exploded together, making me feel like there was nothing else but suffering left in my world now, nothing that could relieve it or make it cease unless it was death. Heavenly bliss suddenly replaced the agony and I flopped over onto my side in relief, panting softly, my eyes still clamped tightly shut. Hoping there wasn't going to be what I thought there was going to be when I opened my eyes, I let my stinging eyes flutter slowly open.

On the ground just on Harry's other side, Cedric was laying spread-eagled. He was dead.

I sucked in a pained breath, my brain unable to comprehend what I was seeing as I stared into Cedric's face, his blank, expressionless gray eyes gazing at the starry sky overhead. Cedric's mouth was half-opened, a slight look of surprise spread across his features. Before my mind could finally wrap around this information...before I could pull myself back to the reality happening now, my arm was jerked roughly upward and I was hauled to my feet.

The short, cloaked man had put down his bundle now, lit his wand and was slowly dragged Harry and I one by one toward the marble headstone. Flickering in the wandlight was a name carved into the stone, which I just managed to read before I was turned forcibly and pushed back against it.

**TOM RIDDLE**

Tight cords were conjured up by the short man, which tied me from neck to ankles to the headstone. Not took long after, Harry followed and we were sitting shoulder to shoulder now, our backs against the headstone. Fast, shallow breathing seemed to be coming from the depths of the hood the figure was wearing; when we struggled, the man hit us, tightening the cords to make us stay still, but...it...it didn't feel like a normal five fingered hit, he had a finger missing! Realization hit me sickeningly in the stomach. It was Wormtail.

"It's you!" Harry and I gasped together.

But Wormtail didn't reply as he finished conjuring the ropes; his fingers trembled uncontrollably as he checked the cords strength, tightening each of the knots. Once he was sure Harry and I had been bound tightly enough to the headstone that we couldn't move, Wormtail drew out a couple of lengths of black material from a pocket on the inside of his cloak and stuffed them each roughly into my and Harry's mouths; then, without a sound, he turned away from us and strode away. I struggled, trying to spit the gag from my mouth, but unable to find the force to push behind it. From beside me, I could feel Harry straining to see where Wormtail could hve gone, but unable to in the darkness; neither of us could even turn our heads to see behind the headstone, but could only see in front of us.

Just twenty feet from where we were bound and gagged, Cedric's body was sprawled, and, just beyond him, glinting softly in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. Dropped at his feet were my and Harry's wands. Nearby, the bundle of robes thought to be an infant lay at the foot of the grave, stirring fretfully. Pain speared through my scar again as I watched it...my stomach flipped queasily...I turned my head abruptly, clenching my eyes...I didn't want to know what was in that bundle...I never wanted to know...

Shifting grass sounded near my feet and I slowly opened my eyes again, avoiding looking at the bundle, not wanting to see it. A gigantic snake slithered around us, circling the headstone we were tied to. The familiar fast, wheezy breathing was growing louder once more, announcing Wormtail's reappearance and I lifted my eyes. The sounds of something heavy being dragged across the ground followed Wormtail's wheezying breath and soon he entered our field of vision again, pushing along a stone cauldron, which he finally stopped at the foot of the grave. What sounded like water sloshed about inside, sounding dangerously close to spilling over its lip. The cauldron was far bigger than any either Harry or I had used; it had a great stone belly big enough to fit a full-grown man.

The creature inside the bundle of robes on the ground stirred more persistantly, as though trying to free itself from it's wrappings. Wormtail busied himself at the bottom of the cauldron with his wand, where crackling flames suddenly appeared. The large snake circling us slowly slithered away into the darkness.

The liquid in the cauldron heated up really quickly, but rather, instead of just bubbling, it sent up fiery sparks, like it was liquid fire. Steam bellowed out into the air, becoming thicker and blurring Wormtail's figure as he tended the fire. At the end of the grave, the bundle started to move more aggressively. Then the same high, cold voice filled my ears again.

_"Hurry!"_

Sparks flew from every part of the liquid surface now.

"It is ready, Master."

_"Now..." _the cold voice demanded.

Wormtail undid the robes, finally revealing the thing inside them, and I could feel ice spread through my veins. I pushed farther back against the headstone, trying to get away from it even though I was bound tightly in place and couldn't move.

This thing was a hundred times worse than anything I had ever seen, including gigantic, man-eating spiders, almost like Wormtail had pulled it out of the darkest depths of the deepest cave. The thing in the bundle had the shape of a crouching human child, but it had none of the distinct features of such a thing, but rather, it had the appearance of a small hairless, scaly dog with dark, raw, red-black skin. Its arms and legs were thin, like sticks, and feeble looking, while its face was flat, snake-like, its thin eyes gleaming ruby red.

The thing was almost helpless; it lifted its arms toward Wormtail, who picked it up and it secured its arms around the man's neck. Wormtail lifted it up, his hood falling back in the process. As he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron, we could see the look of revulsion on Wormtail's weak, pale face in the firelight. The sparks dancing on the surface of the potion, meanwhile, illuminated the evil, flat face and another wave of ice crashed over me, but I couldn't look away now...Wormtail lowered the creature into the center of the cauldron and there was a hiss as it vanished below the surface; the sound of it's body hitting the bottom reached us with a soft thud.

_Please, just let it drown,_ I thought frantically, gritting my teeth as another flash of pain passed through my scar, _please, don't let it live...drown it..._

Wormtail had begun to speak now, his voice shaking noticably, revealing his own fear. Raising his wand, he spoke omniously to the night.

_"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"_

The ground at my and Harry's feet cracked. At Wormtail's command, a very fine trickle of dust rose into the air and fell gently into the cauldron. The reflective surface of the water broke and hissed loudly, sending sparks in all directions as it turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

Wormtail had started whimpering now as he pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from the inside of his cloak. Petrified sobs made his voice crack.

_"Flesh - of the servant - w-willingly given - you will - revive - your master."_

He stretched out his right hand in front of him, the one with the missing finger, gripped the dagger tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.

Realization dawned on me just seconds before it actually happened - I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it out but unable to when Wormtail's scream pierced the silent air, sending a empathetic stab through me. The sound of someone collapsing mingled with Wormtail's anguished panting before there was a sickening splash, indicating something else had been dropped into the cauldron. I didn't think my stomach could handle it if I looked, but the fiery red light now coming from the cauldron lit up the outside of my eyelids...

Wormtail was gasping and moaning horribly now. His anguished breath suddenly fanning across my face made me aware Wormtail was now right in front of me and I flinched, trying to turn my face away from him, smelling something he'd eaten left on his breath.

_"B-blood of the enemy...forcibly taken...you will...resurrect your foe."_

Unable to prevent Wormtail from doing anything because we were both tied so tightly, I could do little but peer under my eye-lashes and struggle hopelessly at my bindings as Wormtail raised the shining silver dagger in his remaining hand, which still shook slightly. Its point pressed heavily into the crook of my right arm until it penetrated the flesh and blood gushed from the wound, soaking into my torn robes. Still panting in pain, Wormtail fumbled in his pocket for a glass vial, which he held up to my wound so that it collected a small dribble of blood. He moved back and I opening my eyes, seeing him doing the same to Harry before staggering back to the cauldron with our combined blood. He poured it inside and instantly the potion turning a blinding white. His job now done, Wormtail dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, slumped sideways, and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump that was now his arm, gasping and sobbing.

The cauldron had begun simmering, sending more sparks in all different directions, so blindingly bright it made the world around it look dark and empty. At first, nothing happened...

_Please, let it have drowned,_ I begged, pleading, scared of what would no doubt come emerging out of that cauldron, _don't let that spell have worked...let it have gone haywire..._

Without warning, the sparks admitting from the cauldron extinguished and a surge of white steam issued forth instead, obscuring our vision so we could see neither Cedric nor Wormtail nor anything else. White mist hung thickly in the air and the only thing I could easily make out was the headstone Harry and I were tied to and my best friend, both of which were close enough that it wasn't hard, _Please...please dear lord let the potion have gone horribly wrong..._ I prayed, hoping, in vain, that the thing in the cauldron had drowned and was dead, _oh lord above, please, please...let the thing have drowned...please let it have died..._

But then, through the mist in front of us, the dark outline of a man appeared, sending an icy tremor down the length of my spine. The figure was tall, bone thin, rising from the cauldron like the skeletal remains from a grave;_ how fitting to our surroundings_, I thought darkly, worriedly. _I guess this is what some call God's sense of humor._ I gritted my teeth, trying to move my hand to find Harry's, feeling a sense of dread growing in the pit of my stomach without that reassuring touch. The feeling grew when I couldn't find his hand and I had to take a deep breath to calm myself down, forcing myself to focus on the figure.

"Robe me," that same high, cold voice sounded from behind the steam and we could see Wormtail's smaller outline scramble to pick up the black robes from where they lay at our feet, still sobbing and moaning, cradling his mutilated arm. He got to his feet, went back to the skeletal figure and draped the robes one-handed over his master's head.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, his gleaming eyes on Harry and myself, with us staring back into that sinister face, the very same one that had haunted both our nightmares for the past three years. Skin whiter than a skull, his eyes were wide, colored fiery red, separated by a flat, snake-like nose with slit-like nostrils...

Lord Voldemort had risen again.


	33. The Death Eaters

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

**The Death Eaters**

Finally turning his gaze away from Harry and I, Voldemot began to examine his new body. His hands looked like large, pale spiders with five long, needle-like legs instead of the usual eight; his slender fingers caressed his own chest and arms, his face; the fiery eyes had cat-like pupils, thin black slits that gleamed unnaturally bright in the darkness. He moved his hands up into his field of vision, flexing the ghostly fingers, his expression rapt and hungry, a kind of dismissive attitude directed toward the still bleeding Wormtail at his feet. The giant snake had slithered back into sight now wand was circling Harry and I again, hissing hungrily, but having little success in drawing its master's attention either. Slipping an unnaturally long-fingered appendage into his robes, Voldemort withdrew a wand, which he caressed delicately too, like it was a fragile piece of china that could break at the slightest touch before he raised it and pointed it at the sniveling Wormtail. The pitiful man was lifted from where he lay and thrown roughly against the headstone where Harry and I were tied, sliding down the stone until he lay, crumpled, between the two of us, still sobbing. Voldemort lifted his gaze once more to Harry and myself, a high, cold, merciless laugh falling from his thin lips.

Blood shone brightly on Wormtail's robes now from where he had wrapped his stump of an arm with them.

"My Lord..." he choked, petrified, "M-my lord...you promised...you promised me..."

"Show me your arm," Voldemort said lazily.

"Oh Master...thank you...thank you, sir..."

He extended his bleeding arm toward Voldemort, but he only laughed once more.

"The other arm, Wormtail."

"Master...Master please..."

Voldemort bent and grabbed Wormtail's left arm, forcing the sleeve of his servant's robes up past his elbow. A vivid red tattoo stood out in bright contrast with his pale skin, the image the same as the one that had appeared at the Quidditch World Cup: a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth, the Dark Mark. Voldemort looked it over silently, taking in each detail with precision, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrolled weeping.

"It _is_ back," he said in a soft, almost delighted voice, "they all will have noticed...and now, we shall see and know..."

He pressed a long white forefinger to the mark on Wormtail's arm and another wave of pain passed through my scar, making me arch my back and grit my teeth as Wormtail let loose a painstaking howl; Voldemort lifted his fingers from the mark and Harry and I saw that it had turned pitch black.

A look of cruel satisfaction crossed Voldemort's face as he straightened, threw back his head, and stared about the dark graveyard.

"How many will have the bravery to return when they feel their marks?" he whispered, his blazing red eyes watching the stars. "And how many will be fool-hardy enough to stay away?"

He started pacing up and down before Harry, Wormtail, and myself, his blazing eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. A minute or so passed before he turned to look at Harry and I once more, his snakelike face twisting into a cruel smile.

"You both stand, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, upon the remains of my deceased father," he hissed softly. "A foolish Muggle man...very much like your dear mothers. But, they both no doubt had their own uses, didn't they? They both died to defend you two as children...and I killed my father, and now, see how useful he is, in death..."

Voldemort laughed again and resumed pacing, looking about him as he did. The snake continued to circle in the grass.

"Do the two of you see that house up on the hillside, Powter? My father grew up there and my mother, a witch, lived in the village at the bottom of the hill, and fell in love with him. But when she told him what she was he abandoned her...you see, he wasn't one for magic...

"So he left her and went back to his Muggle parents before I was even born, and then she died giving birth to me, leaving me to spend my days in a Muggle orphanage...but I vowed to myself to find him...and eventually, I avanged myself upon the very man who gave me his name..._Tom Riddle_..."

Still, he paced, his scouring eyes darting from one grave to another.

"Listen to me, rambling...speaking of my family history," he whispered, just loud enough for us to hear, "I am growing quite sentimental, like a pitiful old man...But look now, Harry, Cheyenne! My one, _true_ family returns to me..."

The loud sound of swishing robes filled the still night air and I lifted my head more. Out of the deep shadows coming from the graves and the yew tree emerged Apparating wizards, all of whom were hooded and masked. They all moved forward one by one, slowly, cautiously, like they couldn't quite believe their eyes. Voldemort stopped his pacing and stood without a word, waiting for them to assemble. One abruptly dropped to his knees and crawled forward to kiss the hem of Voldemort's midnight robes.

"Master...Master..." he murmured.

All the other Death Eaters behind him followed his lead; one by one they dropped to their knees, crawled forward and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes before they backed away again and stood, all of them forming a silent circle. It closed around Voldemort's father's grave, the newly ressurrected man, the still sobbing Wormtail, Harry, and myself. But there were still gaps left in the circle, as though more people were expected. Voldemort, however, did not seem to notice. He looked about the hooded faces and a slight rustle seemed to move through the gathered men, although there wasn't any wind.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," Voldemort said quietly. "Thirteen years have passed since we have last stood face to face and yet you have answered my call as though just a day has gone by...It seems we are still united under the Dark Mark! _Or..."_ he paused, his eyes flashing dangerously, _"are we?"_

He tilted his flat white face back and sniffed loudly, his slit-like nostrils flaring.

"Guilt," he said. "The stench of guilt is thick in the air here."

Another visible shiver ran through the circle, like none of them had the courage to step away from Voldemort, even if they wanted to.

"I can see you're all whole and healthy, with your powers intact, such uplifting appearances, and yet...I have to stop and ask myself: if these wizards are still well and as powerful as they had been, why have none of them come to their master's aid before, when they had swore eternal loyalty to him?"

None of them spoke or moved, except for Wormtail, who was still sobbing on the ground, gripping his bleeding arm.

"And I answer myself," Voldemort whispered softly, "they must believe me broken, they think I'm gone. They blended back in with my enemies and pleaded innocence, ignorance...bewitchment..."

"And yet, another question comes to mind: How could any of them believe I wouldn't rise again? Even after knowing the steps I took so long ago to guard against mortal death...those who had seen the proof of the immensity of my power in the times when I was stronger than any other wizard alive...

"And another thought occured: perhaps they though a greater power could exist somewhere else, one that could be able to rival even that of Lord Voldemort...maybe they thought to alliance themselves with another...maybe that champion of commoners, Mudbloods, and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?"

At the mention of Dumbledore, the gathered Death Eaters stirred, some muttering and shaking their heads, but Voldemort ignored them.

"Truly a disappointment...I am truly disappointed in all of you..."

One man suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet.

"Master!" he shrieked, "Master, please, forgive me! Forgive us all!"

Voldemort laughed harshly and raised his wand.

_"Crucio!"_

The Death Easter kneeling before him began to writh and shriek; a tremor ran the length of my spine and I squeezed my eyes closed, hoping the sound would carry fair enough to the surrounding houses and that the police would be dispatched to find out what was happening.

Voldemort lifted his wand and the tortured Death Eater collapsed onto his stomach, gasping.

"Get up, Avery," Voldemort said. "Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. Thirteen years' repayment is required in order for me to forgive you. Wormtail has already paid his dept, haven't you, Wormtail?"

He looked down at the still sobbing Wormtail at his feet.

"You returned to me, not because of loyalty, but because of your fear of your friends. This pain you now experience is quite profound, Wormtail. You do know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," Wormtail whimpered, "please...please, Master..."

"And yet you still helped me return to my body," Voldemort said smoothly, coolly, watching Wormtail sob on the ground. "Although you are quite pathetic and as low as a worm, you still helped me...and Lord Voldemort does reward those who help him..."

Raising his wand once more, Voldemort whirled it through the air and a streak of what appeared to be molten silver was left shining in its wake. It was shapeless for a moment and then it formed independentally into a gleaming replica of a human hand, shining like a solid form of moonlight. It flowed down and attached itself to Wormtail's bleeding wrist.

Wormtail stopped sobbing quite abruptly. He raised his head, his breathing still harsh and ragged, and stared in disbelief at his new hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, looking like he was wearing a dazzling glove. Flexing his fingers and, still trembling, he picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.

"My Lord," he whispered. "Oh Master...it's truly beautiful...thank you, sir..._thank you_..."

He scrambled forward on his knees to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes just like the others.

"I hope with this your loyalty will never waver again, Wormtail," Voldemort said.

"No, My Lord...never, never again, My Lord..."

Wormtail finally pulled himself to his feet and took his place in the circle, admiring his powerful new hand, his face still shining with tears. Voldemort now turned to the man on Wormtail's right.

"Lucius, my slippery friend," he murmured, pausing before him. "I'm told that you have yet to renounce the old ways, although to the world you present a highly respectable face. I assume you are still ready to take the lead in some Muggle-torture, right? However, you neglected to try and find me, didn't you? Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were none the less effective and fun to learn of, but did you not consider your energy could have better been served finding and aiding your master?"

"My Lord, although I did not come to your aid, I was ever on the alert," Lucius Malfoy's voice came swiftly from beneath the white mask. "Had I seen or heard any sign of you, any whisper of where you could have been located, I would have immediately been by your side and nothing could have possibly prevented me -"

"And yet when a _faithful_ Death Eater sent my Mark into the sky last summer, you ran in the opposite direction, correct?" Voldemort replied lazily, and Mr. Malfoy fell silent. "Yes, I knew all about that, Lucius...You've disappointed me...I will expect more faithful service in the future."

"Yes, of course, My Lord, of course...You are most merciful, thank you..."

Voldemort continued on, then stopped once more, staring at the large space separating Malfoy and the next man, large enough for two people.

"The Lestranges should stand here," Voldemort said softly. "However, they are emprisoned in Azkaban. They were quite faithful. Instead of renouncing me, they went to prison...When Azkaban is broken into, the Lestranges will be honored beyond their wildest dreams. Dementors are our natural allies so they _will_ join us...and we will bring back the banished giants...All my devoted servants will be returned to me and we will build an army of creatures all shall fear..."

He moved on, passing some of his Death Eaters in silence. For others, however, he paused and spoke to them.

"Macnair...you're destroying dangerous creatures for the Ministry of Magic now, I hear? You'll have better victims than that soon enough, that I will personally provide..."

"Thank you, Master...thank you," Macnair murmured.

"And here" - Voldemort continued on to the two largest hooded figures - "we have Crabbe...you'll do better this time, won't you, Crabbe? And you, Goyle?"

They both bowed rather clumsily, muttering dully.

"Yes, Master..."

"We most certainly will, Master..."

"And I expect the same from you, Nott," Voldemort said to the stooped figure standing in the wake of Mr. Goyle's shadow.

"Master, my loyalty is only for you, I am the most faithful -"

"That'll do," Voldemort said, cutting him off.

He paused again as soon as he'd reached the largest gap of all, a gap that looked as though it could fit six people. He surveyed it with his large red eyes, almost like he could actually see people standing there.

"I see we have six missing Death Eaters here...three have died still supporting me. One...too much of a coward to show his face around me again...he'll pay. One's left me forever...he'll be killed, naturally...and one still remains my loyal servant and has already reentered my service."

All the Death Eaters stirred and I could see their eyes darting sideways at each other through their masks.

"That faithful servant of mine is stationed at Hogwarts, and his valient efforts have brought this young couple here tonight...

"Yes," Voldemort continued, his thin white lips curling into a nasty grin as the gathered Death Eaters turned their attention to Harry and I. "The legendary couple, the famous P-team, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power have kindly attended my rebirth. I might even go as far as calling them the guests of honor."

Silence followed. Then the wizard on Wormtail's right broke the circle and stepped forward, Lucius Malfoy's voice coming once more from under the mask.

"Master, we all are dying to know...we beg you to tell your tale...how were you able to achieve this...this miracle...how is it your managed to return to us once more...?"

"Ah, that is quite the story, Lucius," Voldemort said, smiling. "And, naturally, it begins - and ends - with my young friends here."

He moved lazily to stand behind Harry and I, so that all eyes were on the three of us. The snake continued to circle us hungrily.

"You all know, of course, that these two have been called my downfall?" Voldemort said softly, his red eyes looking between Harry and I. My scar burned fiercely and I had to grit my teeth, hard, just to keep from crying out in agony. "You all know that the very night I tried to kill these two I lost my powers and my body. Their mothers died attempting to save them - and unknowingly provided them both with protection I, reluctantly, admit not having foreseen...I could touch neither the boy or the girl."

Voldemort moved one of his long white fingers very close to my cheek.

"Their mothers left the traces of their sacrifice upon them...This is quite old magic, I should have remembered it. Foolish to overlook it really...but no matter. I can touch them now."

He brought his hand closer and I cringed away from his touch, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for the pain that would no doubt follow. However, I felt something moving next to me and a hoarse voice broke the silence.

"NO!"

I opened my eyes, turning to look at who had spoke and found out it was Harry, who had managed to spit out his gag and was straining his neck to look at the man leaning over us. Voldemort stopped, turning his red eyes on him, appearing surprised.

"Don't touch her...Don't touch Cheyenne!" he said as bravely as he could master, an angry, overprotective gleam in his eyes. A smirk suddenly crossed Voldemort's lips.

"Oh Harry, you're getting a little jealous, aren't you? Don't like that I'm going to touch your girlfriend here, right? How sweet." he let loose a quiet, spine-chilling laugh, "Then...I suppose you won't like this..." the cold, sharp tip of his finger pressed insistantly into my cheek and I arched my back again in pain, biting down on my gag to keep from whimpering as I closed my eyes. Tears stung the back of my eyes and rolled down my cheeks, leaving hot, stinging trails behind. Voldemort laughed softly in my ear, removed his finger and continued speaking to the circle of Death Eaters.

"I greatly miscalculated, my friends, I do admit. Because of those foolish women's sacrifice, my spell was deflected off these two and rebounded back onto me. Oh, it was painful beyond anything else I could have imagined; nothing could have prepared me for it. Ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the most evil ghost...but I was still _alive_. Not even I knew what I was...and I had gone even further on the path of immortality than anyone. You all know my goal is to conquer death. I was tested and it appeared that one of my experiments had worked...for I had not died, although the curse was designed for that purpose. Nonetheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive on his earth, and without any means to take care of myself...I had no body and any spell that could have helped me required me to use a wand...

"I remember forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, breath by breath, to exist...I settled myself in a faraway forest to wait...Knowing one of my faithful Death Eaters would try to find me...one that could perform the magic I could not and help restore me to my body...but my wait was in vain..."

Another shiver ran the length of the circle of listening Death Eater. Voldemort let the silence deepen dramatically before he spoke again.

"I still had one remaining power, however...I could possess another's body. But I did not dare go where there was a great multitude of humans, knowing there were Aurors abroad there and searching for me. I would sometimes inhabit animals - snakes, mainly, because of my past - but I was little better off with them than when I was a pure spirit, as their bodies were ill adapted to perform magic...unfortunately, because of this, my magic dramaticallly shortened their lives and none of them lasted very long...

"And then...four years ago...the means for my return seemed assured. A young, foolish, gullible wizard wandered across my hiding place in the forest that had become my home. He was the very chance I'd been dreaming of...for he had become a teacher at Dumbledore's school...it was easy to bend him to my will...he brought me back to this country undetected, and after a while, I was able to take possession of his body, so I could supervise him closely as he carried out my orders. But my plan failed and I was unable to seize the Sorcerer's Stone. I wasn't able to uptain immortal life. I was thwarted once more by Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power..."

More silence; nothing stirred, not even the leaves on the yew tree. The Death Eaters remained motionless, the glittering eyes fixed on Voldemort, along with Harry and myself.

"The servant died when I left his body and I was left as weak has I had been before," Voldemort resumed his story. "I returned once more to my hiding place far away, and, I confess, I feared I might never regain my powers again...Yes, my darkest hour...I couldn't hope too highly that another wizard would be sent, one I would be able to possess...and I had given up all hope, now that none of my Death Eaters cared enough to know what had become of me..."

A couple of the masked wizards surrounding us shifted uncomfortably, but Voldemort didn't seem to notice.

"And then, not but a year ago, when I'd all but abandoned hope, a miracle came at last...a servant finally returned to me. Wormtail here, who'd faked his own death so he could escape justice, was driven from hiding by those he'd once thought were his friends. He sought to find me in the country where it'd long been rumored I was hiding...helped, naturally, by the rats he met along the way. Wormtail has always had a strange affinity with rats, haven't you, Wormtail? His filthy little friends informed him of a place, deep in an Albanian forest, that they all avoided, where small animals like themselves had died thanks to a dark shadow that had possessed them...

"His journey back to me was not smooth, though, was it, Wormtail? Driven by hungry one night while on the edge of the forest where he hoped to find me, he foolishly stopped at an inn for a little food... and who did he find, but Miss Bertha Jorkins, a Ministry of Magic witch.

"Now see how fate favors Lord Voldemort. This blunder might have been the very end of Wormtail, and my last hope for regeneration. But Wormtail - displaying a presence of mind I had not before known he'd possessed - managed to convince Bertha to accompany him on a nice nighttime stroll. He overpowered her and brought her to me. And young Bertha, who could very well have ruined it all, proved instead to be a gift from the heavens...for - with a little _persuasion_ - she became quite the veritable mine of information.

"She informed me that the Triwizard Tournament would be held at Hogwarts this year. She told me she knew of a faithful Death Eater who would be more than willing to aid in my plan, if I could just contact him. She gave me a great deal of useful information...but the spell I had to use to break the Memory Charm on her was powerful, and, unfortunately, when I'd gained all the information I required from her, her mind and body were both damaged beyond repair. She'd served her purpose. I couldn't possess her, so I disposed of her."

Voldemort smiled wickedly, his red eyes blank and pitiless.

"Wormtail's body, of course, was too ill adapted for me to possess, as everyone in the wizarding world assumed him dead, and he would no doubt attract too much attention if noticed. But he was exactly the kind of able-bodied servant I needed, and, although he was a poor wizard, Wormtail was able to follow any instruction I gave him, which allowed me to inhabit a body of my own while I waited for the essential ingredients needed for my rebirth...a few spells of my own invention...with some help from my dear Nagini," Voldemort turned his gaze on the still circling snake, "we concocted a potion made from unicorn blood and the vemon Nagini provided...It wasn't long before I retained an almost humaniod form and gained enough strength to travel.

"There was no more hope of stealing the Sorcerer's Stone since I knew Dumbledore would have made sure that it was destroyed. But I was willing to embrace mortal life once more before I aimed to gain immortality. I set my sights a little lower...I'd settle for my regular body again, my old strength.

"I knew of an old piece of Dark Magic that could revive me, the potion used tonight - I just needed three powerful ingredients. One was already at hand, of course, wasn't it, Wormtail? Flesh willingly given by a servant...

"My father's bone meant we would have to come here, to the very graveyard where he was buried. But the blood of a foe, or foes...in this case," he said with a grin, looking between Harry and myself. "Wormtail would've had me use any witch or wizard, any that hated me...as a great many still do. But none of them were good enough, there were only two I _had_ to use if I was to successfully rise again and become more powerful than I had once been before my downfall. I wanted Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power's blood combined. I wanted the blood of the duo that had stripped me of my power thirteen years ago...then the lingering protection provided by their mothers thirteen years ago would run through my veins too...

"But how could I possibly get to either of them? They've both been better protected than I think either knows, protected in ways Dumbledore had devised so long ago, when the couple's future fell so delicately into his lap. Dumbledore invoked the use of an ancient kind of magic, one that would ensure both their safety so long as they were in their relative's care. I could not even touch them there...Then, of course, there was the Quidditch World Cup...I though their defenses would have been a bit weaker there, away from both their relatives and Dumbledore, but I was not strong enough yet to attempt to kidnap one, let alone both, especially in the midst of a crowd of Ministry wizards. Then, the couple would once again return to Hogwarts, where they would constantly be under the crooked nose of that Muggle-loving fool twenty-four hours a day. So how could I possibly hope to touch either of them?

"Using Bertha Jorkin's information was the key. Station my one faithful servant at Hogwarts so he could ensure the duo's names were entered into the Goblet of Fire and that they both won the tournament - that they both touched the Triwizard Cup first - the cup which my Death Eater had changed into a Portkey, which would transport them here, beyond Dumbledore's defenses and spells, and into my waiting clutches. And now, here they are...the duo you all believed to have been my downfall..."

Voldemort moved slowly around the headstone and turned to face Harry and I. He raised his wand, pointing it at Harry.

_"Crucio!"_

A look of unbearable pain enveloped over Harry's face. It looked like the pain was sinking all the way down to his very core; his head looked like it was going to split in two; I wriggled wildly, trying to free myself and spit the material from my mouth to speak, to make him end this. My tongue pushed against the material and I opened my mouth more, my tongue pushing it down my chin and it fell onto my lap.

"STOP IT! STOP...please, stop it, stop it..." I pleaded pathetically, more tears escaping from my eyes as I shook my head, "Leave Harry alone, don't hurt him, please..."

I looked up into those bright red eyes through my tears, begging him to lift the spell, pleading for Harry's safety. Voldemort lifted his wand and I felt Harry fall limp beside me. The sounds of the Death Eaters laughing around me filled my ears, but I didn't lift my gaze from the snake faced man in front of me. He laughed.

"You see how foolish it was to think these two could have ever been stronger than I?" Voldemort said. "But I do not want there to be any mistake in anyone's mind. Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power managed to escape me merely by luck. And now I'm going to prove my power by killing them both here, in front of your very eyes, when there is no Dumbledore to defend them, no mothers to die in their stead. I will give them their chance, however. They will be allowed to fight, and no doubt will remain on which of us is stronger. Just a bit longer, Nagini," he whispered to the snake, which glided away through the grass to watch with the Death Eaters.

"Now untie them, Wormtail, and give them both back their wands."


	34. Priori Incantatem

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

**Priori Incantatem**

Wormtail approached Harry and I, and we scrambled to find our feet so we could support our weight before the ropes were even cut. With one swipe of his new silver hand, Wormtail cut through the bonds tying the two of us to the gravestone. Almost instinctfully I grabbed Harry's arm, remembering his injured leg. I almost considered trying to run for it, but I couldn't carry Harry too far without one of them possibly catching us. It was impossible now, anyhow, as the Death Eaters had closed ranks and formed a tighter circle around us and Voldemort, so that any gaps where missing Death Eaters should have stood were now filled. Wormtail slipped out of the circle and went over to where Cedric's body lay, returning with my and Harry's wands, which he thrust roughly into my open hand without looking at either of us. Then he returned to his place in the circle of watching Death Eaters. I quickly seperated our wands and handed Harry his, which he took gratefully.

"You've both been taught how to duel, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power?" Voldemort asked softly, his red eyes glinting at us through the darkness.

The memory of the dueling club we'd attended at Hogwarts during our second year surfaced almost immediately at Voldemort's words...All I remembered learning during that club was how to disarm someone...and I didn't see how useful it would be to disarm Voldemort of his wand, and, even if either Harry or I could, what then? We were surrounded by Death Eaters and outnumbered at least thirty to two...Nothing else we had learned could've possible trained us for something like this and I knew we were both facing the very thing Moody had always warned us about...the unavoidable _Avada Kedavra_ curse - and Voldemort was right - neither of our mothers were here to die for us this time...We were both alone...unprotected...vunerable...

"We all bow to each other, Harry, Cheyenne," Voldemort said, bending forward slightly, his snakelike face remaining upturned toward Harry and I. "Come now, niceties must be observed here...Dumbledore'd like you both to show some manners...Come now, bow to death, Harry, Cheyenne..."

The Death Eaters were laughing again. Voldemort was grinning. Neither Harry nor I bowed. I was one for being polite and having good manners, but I wasn't going to allow Voldemort to play with me or my best friend before he killed either of us. We weren't going to allow him that satisfaction...

"I said, _bow_," Voldemort said, raising his wand - what felt like a large, powerful hand pressed into my lower back, ruthlessly forcing me to bend forward in a low bow, unwillingly taking Harry down with me. The Death Eaters laughed harder than before.

"Very good," Voldemort said, and I could hear the smirk clearly in his voice as he raised his wand, and the pressure on my back followed. I stood stright, taking Harry with me. "And now, face me, like adults...straight-backed and proud, the way your fathers died...

"And now - we duel."

Voldemort raised his wand, and before either Harry or I could do anything to defend ourselves, before either of us could even move, I was hit by the Cruciatus Curse. Pain exploded through my entire body, making every nerve ending feel like it was on fire. Blistering hot knives pierced every visible surface of my flesh and my brain reeled breath-takingly fast. My throat burned as I screamed, feeling like my voice wouldn't be right afterward -

And then it stopped and blissful nothingness followed. I was on my knees, the arm that had been supporting Harry by the shoulders wrapped around my stomach, which twisted and flopped, feeling like I was about to be sick; I shook uncontrollably, like Wormtail had been when he'd cut off his own hand. Harry stood over me and I felt a reassuring hand on my shoulder, the other taking a hold on my upper arm to pull me to my feet. I stumbled slightly, but Harry steadied me.

"Are you taking a little break," Voldemort asked, his slit-like nostrils dilating excitedly. Harry and I looked around at him and I felt an arm snake protectively around my waist. Harry turned so I was behind him and he turned mostly toward Voldemort, "a little pause, then...That hurt quite a bit, didn't it, Cheyenne? You don't want me to do that to you again, do you?"

I didn't answer, my head leaning against Harry's shoulder. We were both going to die, just like Cedric, those pitiless ruby eyes drilled it into my mind...we were going to die, and neither of us could do anything about it...but we weren't going to play along with him. We weren't going to follow Voldemort's orders...we weren't going to plea, at least not for our own lives...

"I asked you whether nor not you'd like me to do that again," Voldemort said softly, dangerously. "Answer me, now! _Imperio!"_

Once more, that sensation of having my mind wiped clean spread through me...It was so blissful...I didn't have to think...it was like I was dreaming..._just answer the question, Cheyenne...give one little answer...just tell me no..._

I won't! a stronger voice shouted from the deep recesses of my mind, I won't give you that satisfaction...

_Its just one little word...just tell me no..._

I won't say it...I won't...

_Just tell me no..._

"I WON'T! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"

The words exploded out of me as I lifted my head, glaring at the man across from us as the words echoed through the graveyard as the dream state lifted, leaving me feeling cold, like I'd just been drenched in frigid water - the ache left over from the Cruciatus Curse returned full force, alongside the realization of our location and the fate we were facing...

"You won't?" Voldemort asked quietly, the laughter from the Death Eaters having died almost instantly. "You won't say no? Oh, Cheyenne, obedience is a virtue I need to teach both you and Harry before you die...Maybe a little dose of pain for Harry, then?"

Voldemort raised his wand, but Harry and I were ready this time; with ample reflexes reflecting our years of Quidditch training, Harry flung us sideways onto the grass and we rolled behind the marble headstone of Voldemort's father. A loud crack rent the air, signaling we'd just missed the curse.

"Cheyenne, Harry, we're not playing hide-and-seek," Voldemort's soft, cold voice floated toward us, drawing nearer every second as the Death Eaters laughed once more. "Neither of you can hide from me. Does this mean you're both tired of our duel? Would you both prefer that I finish it now, Harry, Cheyenne? Come on out...come out and play, then...it'll be quick...I think it'll be painless too...I personally wouldn't know...I haven't died before..."

Harry and I crouched behind the headstone and we knew the end had finally come. We were crouched together, him with his arms around me while I leaned against his chest, clutching the front of his robes, still shaking. There wasn't any hope...no help in sight. And, as we heard Voldemort draw closer still, I knew only one thing, and it was beyond anything, be it fear or reason: I wasn't going to die here crouching like a child playing hide-and-seek; neither Harry nor I were going to allow ourselves to die kneeling before Voldemort...we were going to die standing like our fathers had, defending ourselves, and each other, even if our defenses were useless...

Before Voldemort could even peer around the headstone, Harry and I stood up, gripping our wands tightly in our hands, and threw ourselves around the headstone, facing him. We thrust our wands out in front of us, pointing them at Voldemort.

Voldemort was ready for us. As Harry and I shouted, _"Expelliarmus!"_ Voldemort cried, _"Avada Kedavra!"_

A jet of dark green light issued from Voldemort's wand just as a jet of fiery red light blasted each from my and Harry's wands - all three met in midair - and suddenly my wand was vibrating uncontrollably, almost like it was being struck with a strong electric charge; my hand cramped up around it and I couldn't have possibly released it even if I'd wanted to - and suddenly, instead of red and green, all our wands were connected by long narrow beams of bright, deep golden light. I followed the beam with a surprised gaze until I saw that Voldemort's white, spidery leg fingers were also gripping a shaking, vibrating wand. I glanced around at Harry, seeing his wand also vibrating and shaking violently.

Nothing could prepare either Harry or I for what happened next; I could feel my feet lift from the ground. Harry, Voldemort, and I were raised up into the air together, our wands still connected by that shimmering golden thread. Gliding away from the tombstone of Voldemort's father, we came to rest on a clear patch of ground where there were no graves or headstones...The Death Eaters shouted from behind us, asking their boss for instructions; they closed in on us, reforming their circle around Harry, Voldemort and I once more, the snake slithering right at their heels. Some had drawn their wands too -

The golden threat connecting all three of our wands suddenly splintered into a thousand, smaller beams, although our wands remained connected. The smeller beams arched high over Harry, Voldemort, and I, crisscrossing all around us until we were enclosed in a large golden, dome-shaped web, like a cage of light, beyond which the Death Eaters circled like vultures, their cries strangely muffled...

"Don't do anything!" Voldemort shrieked at the Death Eaters, and we saw his red eyes widen with astonishment at what was happening now, fear mixing with it at the thought of breaking the thread of light still connecting his wand with mine and Harry's; I gripped my wand tightly with both hands, the golden thread still unbroken. "Don't do anything unless I command you to do so!" Voldemort shouted once more to his Death Eaters.

And then a heavenly sound filled my ears, seeming to come from all the threads of the light-spun web vibrating around Harry, Voldemort, and I. I'd only heard it once before, but it wasn't difficult to recognize: it was phoenix song. It was our sound of hope, my and Harry's...it was the most beautiful and completely welcome sound we'd ever heard and ever _wanted _to hear. The song vibrated through my entire being, bringing with it a fresh wave of hope...This was the sound we connected with Dumbledore, and it felt like a dear friend was whispering softly in my ear...

_Don't break the connection._

I know I can't, I told the music, I know I shouldn't...Harry and I both know it...I thought, glancing sideways at my best friend, who was looking back at me, telling me he wasn't going to break the connection either, that he understood that we couldn't. However, no sooner had we mentally agreed, than just that simple task became even harder to do. Our wands started vibrating even more strongely than ever...and now even the beam connecting all our wands morfied into something else entirely too...it started to look as though large beads of light slid up and down the threat connecting the wands - my wand shuddered under my grasp as the beads slid slowly and steadily toward it...The beam was moving steadily toward Harry and I, away from Voldemort, and my wand gave an angry shudder...

As the closest bead of light came closer to my wand's tip, an intense heat ran through the wood, and a fear of being burned if it burst into flame passed momentarily through my mind. The closer the bead came, the harder my wand seemed to vibrate; I was afraid my wand wouldn't survive contact with it; it felt close to shattering under my fingers -

Concentrating every last brain particle on forcing the light back toward Voldemort, my ears rang with phoenix song, my eyes fixed intently on the ball of light...and, finally, very slowly, the beads slid to a halt and started to inch back along the other way...and now it was Voldemort's wand that was vibrating violently...Voldemort looked astonished, almost fearful...

One bead of light quivered just inches from the tip of Voldemort's wand. I couldn't quite understand how I was doing it, how either Harry or I were doing it, and I knew neither of us knew what exactly this would achieve, but we continued to concentrate as hard as we could, harder than either of us had ever concentrated in our entire lives, forcing the bead of light right back toward Voldemort's wand...and slowly, inch by inch, it moved along the golden thread...it trembled for a moment...and then the two connected...

Painfilled echoing screams issued immediately from Voldemort's wand, and then - Voldemort's red eyes widened in shock - a strangely dense, smoky hand flew out of the wand tip and just vanished...the ghost of the hand he'd created for Wormtail...more shouts of pain followed...and then something a great deal larger began to bloom from the wand tip, a great, grayish thing that looked to be made of the desest, thickest smoke...It was a head...next a chest and arms...it was Cedric Diggory's torso!

If there was ever a time I might've released my wand in shock, it would have been now, but instinct kept me clutching my wand for dear life, so that the golden thread remained intact, even though what _appeared_ to be the thick gray ghost of Cedric Diggory emerged entirely from the end of Voldemort's wand, looking like it was squeezing itself out of an extremely narrow tunnel...and this shady Cedric stood erect, looked up and down the golden thread of light, and then spoke in a distant and echoing voice.

"Hold on, Harry, Cheyenne,"

I looked around at Voldemort, his red eyes still wide with shock, looking like he hadn't even expected something like this either. In the background, I could very faintly hear the frightened yells of the Death Eaters still prowling around the edges of the golden dome.

More screams of pain issued from the wand, followed by another dense, shadowy head, which, in turn, was followed by arms and a torso...the old man Harry and I had seen once in our dreams now pushed himself out of the end of the wand just like Cedric had...and his ghostly shadow fell next to Cedric's, and, with mild interest, he surveyed Harry, Voldemort, and myself, along with the golden web, and the connected wands...

"He was really a wizard, wasn't he?" the old man said, his eyes on Voldemort. "He killed me, he did...You two fight him hard..."

Yet another head was emerging, however...this one was as gray as a smoky statue and was a woman's this time...Fighting to keep my wand still now, I watched her drop to the ground and straighten herself up like the others, turning to look at us...

Surveying the battle right before her with wide eyes was the shadowy figure of Bertha Jorkins.

"Don't either of you let go, now!" she cried, her voice echoing like Cedric's had, sounding like she was really far away. "Don't either of you let him get you, Harry, Cheyennne - keep holding on!"

The three shadowy figures began to pace the length of the inner walls of the golden web, while the Death Eaters flitted about the outside...we could hear Voldemort's dead victims whispering as they circled us while we dueled, whispered words of encouragement to Harry and I, and hissed words neither of us could really hear to Voldemort.

Another head was emerging now from the tip of Voldemort's wand...my heart leapt in realization, knowing exactly who it would be this time...I'd almost suspected from the moment Cedric had appeared, but hadn't been too sure...I knew because this woman was one of the ones I'd been thinking of more than anyone else tonight...

The shadowy figure of a young woman with waist length hair fell to the grass just as Bertha had done, straightened herself up, and looked at Harry, then myself...and I, Cheyenne, fighting to protect myself and my best friend from being killed by the man that had taken her away, was staring back into the face of my dead mother.

"Lily is coming, Harry...and then your fathers will follow shortly," she said softly, looking between Harry and myself. "Just please...hold on for Lilly and your fathers...it'll be all right..."

And came Lilly Potter did...first her head, then her body, followed not too shortly after by the tall figures of our fathers. First, the tall, wavy/curly dirty blond haired form of Mark Power bloomed from the end of Voldemort's wand, dropped to the ground, and straightened up beside the two women, smiling kindly at us, his blue eyes wrinkling at the corners like usual. Following just seconds later was the similarly tall, untidy-haired figure of James Potter, which dropped onto the ground and straightened up beside his best friend and their wives. The two men moved closer to Harry and I, looking down at the two of us, and then spoke in the same distant, echoing voice as the others. They were quieter, however, so that Voldemort couldn't hear. The Dark Lord's face was now alive with fear at seeing his victims prowling around him.

"When your connection is broken, we'll all only linger for a few moments..." James said softly and my father nodded.

"He's right...but we will give you both time...you must both get to the Portkey, it'll return you to Hogwarts..."

"Do you both understand, Harry, Cheyenne?"

"Yes," Harry and I gasped together, fighting to keep a tight grip on our wands, which were slipping and sliding beneath our fingers.

"Harry...Cheyenne..." the figure of Cedric whispered, "please, take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents..."

"We will, we promise," I said, forcing a smile, trying to keep a strong grip on my wand.

"Harry," my father said softly, talking quickly. "Cheyenne, take good care of each other. You two...are really great together..."

"Do it now," Harry's father whispered to us then as heat rushed into my face, but I pushed it down, "be ready to run...do it now..."

"NOW!" Harry yelled; it was a relief. I didn't think I could've held on a second longer - Harry and I jerked out wands upward with all our strength, and the golden threat broke; the cage of light vanished, the phoenix song faded - but the shadowy figures of Voldemort's victims remained - they advanced on Voldemort, shielding Harry and I from his gaze -

Harry and I ran as hard and fast as we possibly could, knocking three Death Eaters aside as we bolted past; we zigzagged between headstones, dodging behind the nearest ones, feeling curses at our heels, hearing them hitting the headstones - we dodged curses and graves, pelting toward Cedric's body, the only thought occuring at this moment that we needed to get to him -

_"Stun them!"_ Voldemort's scream chased us over the graves as a spell just missed me as I ducked behind a headstone before pelting again toward Cedric, putting on an extra burst of speed, my legs pumping harder, the cold air stinging my face.

Ten feet from Cedric, Harry pulled me behind a marble angel to avoid the jets of red light. The tip of the angel's wing shattered on impact. I bolted ahead again and I could hear Harry shout a spell back at the Death Eaters. A muffled yell reached me, but I didn't stop to look back; I catapulated over the cup and threw myself down almost immediately, more spells zoomed over my head as I landed on Cedric's chest, lifting my head and streatching my hand out, calling Harry's name -

"Stand aside, I will kill them! They're mine!" Voldemort's shriek split the air.

The familiar hand slid into place over my palm, his fingers fitting perfectly through mine like puzzle pieces; Voldemort and the Death Eaters weren't too far behind us and would round that last tombstone and would get us. Cedric was too heavy for the two of us to carry and the cup was just out of our reach -

Voldemort's fiery eyes flared in the darkness. His mouth curling into a smile filled my vision.

_"Accio!"_ Harry yelled and I saw the Triwizard Cup fly toward us. My arm tightened around Cedric's waist, my hand around Harry's as he caught the cup in his free hand -

Voldemort's scream of fury echoed in my ears as I felt that immediate jerk behind my navel, indicating the Portkey was working - it sped us away from the graveyard in a whirl of wind and color, Cedric pulled along with us...We were heading back to Hogwarts.


	35. Veritaserum

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

**Veritaserum**

Pain crackled through me as I landed, hard, on top of Cedric, feeling the arm I had round his waist being crushed underneath me, the hand clutching Harry's tightening as I released Cedric, rolling off him to lay between him and Harry. During the transportation on the Portkey, the fear that had been present since we'd first gone to the graveyard had been replaced by an overwelming sense of relief, which nearly brought me to tears again. The sense of safety returned full force, which only brought me closer to the edge; Harry and I were safe, my best friend and I were going to live another day. The information sent the world around me spinning and I had to clamp my eyes closed, clenching my hand tighter around Harry's, feeling it ground me, keep me from giving into the darkness collecting at the edges of my brain. Exhaustion moved through me, making my aching muscles throb and tremble uncontrollably. I didn't want to move; despite my muscles aching uncomfortably, I was content laying here with my best friend...I waited for someone else to do something...for something to happen...my scar burned faintly on my forehead...

A crashing wave of sound washed over us, echoing in my ears and scrambling my already befuddled mind; voices echoed all around us, mixing with screams and a stampede of footsteps...I gave a low groan and rolled slowly to my side, burying my face in Harry's shoulder, willing the noise to fade, to leave us here to just lay here and enjoy our time alone.

A rough pair of hands suddenly seized my shoulders and turned me over, pulling me upright. My hand was yanked ungraciously from Harry's.

"Harry! _Cheyenne!"_

I opened my eyes, looking up at the starry sky. Albus Dumbledore crouched over us and around the edges of my vision, I could see the dark shadows of a crowd pressing in around us, shuffling closer; the ground beneath us vibrated with their footsteps.

We'd landed on the edge of the maze. The stands rose high above us, looking to be moving as their occupants shuffled about, trying to get a better view of what was happening. The stars winked down at us from the vast, velvet blue blanket overhead.

Dumbledore's face swam in and out of focus in front of me and I reached out an unsteady hand, gripping what felt like his wrist.

"Professor, he's back..." I whispered, tightening my grip. "Voldemort's back."

"What's going on? What happened here?"

Cornelius Fudge's face appeared, upside down over us, looking white and frightened.

"By God - Diggory!" he whispered. "Dumbledore - he's dead!"

The words echoed around us, going from one shadowy figure to the other, their gasps erupting into screeching screams that broke the semi-silent night air and my eardrums - "He's dead! _Dead!"_ Cedric Diggory is _dead!"_

"Harry, let go of Cedric," Fudge's voice said from behind me and I felt him reach down to pry Harry's fingers from Cedric's lip body. Something snapped in me and I wrenched myself from Dumbledore's grasp, landing sideways on Cedric, my hands clutching his shirt.

"NO! We have to protect him..." I said, a few tears escaping my eyes. Dumbledore's blurred face leaned closer.

"Cheyenne, Harry, neither of you can help him now. It's over. Let him go."

"He wanted us to bring him back," I heard Harry mutter. This seemed like it was something important to tell him. "He wanted us to bring him back to his parents..."

"That's right, Harry...come on, Cheyenne, just let him go..."

With strength I hadn't known he'd possessed for a thin old man, Dumbledore pried my fingers from Cedric's body and then lifted Harry and I from the ground together, setting us both down on our feet. My head swam again and I swayed. My legs felt like jelly, making me feel like I'd just run a full mile without a rest. The crowd circling us jostled about, pushing to get closer, pressing insistantly in on us - "What's going on?" "What's the matter with him?" _"Diggory's dead!"_

"They'll need to go right to the hospital wing!" Fudge said, speaking loudly so he could be heard over the babble of the crowd. "They're both ill and injured - Dumbledore, Diggory's parents are here, right up there in the stands..."

"I'll take Cheyenne and Harry, Dumbledore, I'll take them -"

"No, I would actually prefer -"

"Dumbledore, Amos Diggory is coming this way...We should tell him what happened before he sees -"

"Harry, Cheyenne, stay here -"

Girls screamed and sobbed hysterically around us...The scene blurred together before my eyes...

"It's all right, you two...come on...it's the hospital wing for you both..."

"But...but Dumbledore...he told us...to stay put..." I slurred uselessly, the ache in my head making me feel queasy; my vision swam even more.

"You both need to lie down...Come along now..."

Someone larger and stronger started half pulling, half carrying me through the frightened crowd and I subconsciously reached for Harry, my hand slipping through his. His fingers laced through mine and he slouched after us, his head falling against my shoulder. Loud gasps, screams, and shouts followed us as the wizard supporting me pushed a path through the crowd, leading the way toward the castle. I felt us move across the sloping lawn, and the sound of water lapping at a shore told me we were making our way past the lake. Soon, the sound of lapping water faded and the only sound I could hear now was the heavy breathing of the man helping us walk.

"What happened, Cheyenne, Harry?" a low, growling voice said in my left ear as the man lifted me up a couple of stone steps. The sound of a walking stick clunking rythmatically on stone caught my attention and I knew almost immediately that Mad-Eye Moody was leading us into the castle.

"The...the...cup...Portkey..." I mumbled, opening my eyes partway and looking blankly about the entrance hall as we crossed to the marble staircase. "Took us...and Cedric...graveyard...Lord Voldemort...there..."

The clunk of Moody's walking stick echoed about the hall as we climbed the stairs...

"The Dark Lord was waiting for you? What happened next?"

"Cedric...killed..." Harry said slowly from behind me.

"And then?"

The sound from Moody's walking stick vibrated along the corridor.

"Potion...Voldemort..got body...back..."

"The Dark Lord got his body back? He returned?" I could almost hear the uplifting tone in his voice, something underlying it that I, if I wasn't so out of it, would have loved to investigate.

"The Death Eaters...came...we dueled..."

"You two dueled with the Dark Lord himself?"

"We just got away...our wands...performed a strange spell...saw our mums and dads...appeared out of his wand..."

"Come in here, Cheyenne, Harry...have a seat...you'll both be all right...here, drink these..."

The scrape of a key in a lock pierced my ears and a cup was pushed into my free hand.

"Go on, drink it...it'll make you both feel better...come now, Cheyenne, Harry...I need to know the exact story..."

A strong hand pushed the bottom of the cup upward until it touched my lips and a hot, peppery taste flooded over my tongue and down my throat, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. I coughed and blinked, watching Moody's office swim into sharper focus around me, along with Moody himself...He looked to have lost all coloration in his cheeks and it was unnerving to see both his eyes going from Harry to myself, and then back again without blinking.

"Are you two sure Voldemort's back, Harry, Cheyenne? How was he able to do it?"

"He took things from his father's grave, Wormtail, and the two of us," I said, my head suddenly feeling clearer, like someone had just blown away the fog that had been suffocating my brain; my scar wasn't burning as badly as before; I could see every line on Moody's face now, although the office was dark. Screams and shouts reached us from the distant Quidditch field.

"What did the Dark Lord take from you two?" Moody asked urgently.

"Blood," Harry said, lifting his arm to show Moody his cut. I looked down at my own, my sleeve almost torn in half from Wormtail's dagger, blood coating the material and the length of my arm. My skin looked so pale against the crimson liquid.

A long, low hiss escaped Moody as he released a breath and I lifted my eyes back to our teacher.

"And the Death Eaters have returned, have they?"

"Yes, there were lots of them...but there were many that didn't come back..." I said, remembering the Death Eaters that hadn't returned when Voldemort had called for them.

"How did he act toward them?" Moody pressed. "Did he show them forgiveness?"

An important fact suddenly returned to the forefront of my mind, something I knew we should have told Dumbledore straightaway -

"A Death Eater's here at Hogwarts! Voldemort stationed a Death Eater here - he put our names in the Goblet of Fire, he helped us through to the end -"

I moved to get up, but Moody settled me back in my chair.

"I know who that Death Eater is," he told us quietly.

"Is it Karkaroff?" Harry burst out. "Where is he? Have you caught him and locked him up?"

"Karkaroff?" Moody said, laughing oddly. "Karkaroff fled when he felt the Dark Mark burn his arm. He did not wish to meet the Dark Lord's faithful supporters when he's betrayed so many of them, but I doubt he'll get far. The Dark Lord has ways to track his enemies."

"Karkaroff's _gone?_ He fled? So...he didn't put my and Harry's names in the goblet?"

"No," Moody told us slowly, shaking his head. "No, he did not. I was the one that entered you two."

That new piece of information came in one ear and swirled around in my brain, but it didn't seem to want to register in my thoughts.

"No you didn't, why would you?" Harry said, sounding disbeliving. "You couldn't've..."

"Oh I assure you, Potter, I could have, and I did," Moody said, his magical eye swirling in its socket to fixate on the door. He was checking to be sure no one was outside, I knew. He wanted to be sure no one would come bursting through the door while he was questioning us. Moody drew his wand from his robes and pointed it at me. Harry pulled me closer, wrapping his arm around my waist and turning his body so he mostly shielded me from Moody.

"Did he forgive those that still walked free?" he said. "Did he forgive the Death Eaters that escaped Azkaban and were able to remain free?"

"Excuse us...?" I said, confused on his meaning. I stared blankly at the wand pointed directly at us, unable to believe this could be happening.

"I asked whether the Dark Lord forgave those cowards," Moody spoke softly, almost in a deathly whisper. "If he ever forgave the scum who never went looking for him, if he gave forgivness to those who didn't brave Azkaban for him. Those unfaithful pieces of trash that were brave enough to riot in masks at the Quidditch World Cup, then turned tail and fled when they saw I'd fired the Dark Mark into the sky."

"Y-you fired...What are you...?"

"I've told you both, I've told you, Harry, Cheyenne: if there's one thing I hate more than any other, it's a Death Eater that was able to walk free. They turned their backs on my master when they were needed the most, and I expected him to hand out punishment. I expected painful torture that they would never forget. Tell me he caused them pain...caused them to suffer for their disloyalty..." An insane smile suddenly lit up Moody's face and an uncomfortable shiver ran the length of my spine as the information finally sank in, the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention. "Tell me he told them I alone remained faithful...that I was fully prepared to risk everything I had, including my life, to deliver him the thing he wanted above anything else...you two."

"You couldn't...it - you couldn't've..."

"Who else would have put your names in the Goblet of Fire, under the names of two different schools? No one else but me. Who's been frightening off every person I thought harmful or in the way of your winning the tournament? Me. Who would've been the one that persuaded Hagrid into showing you two the dragons for the first task? Me. Who helped you both come to the realization of your only way of beating the dragons? Me."

Moody's magical eye had left the door and fixed back upon Harry and myself. His lopsided mouth leered widely.

"The road to guiding you two through to the end hasn't always been smooth. I had to use every ounce of my cunning to keep from arousing suspicion; if you both navigated through the tasks too easily, Dumbledore would have been very suspicious and would have tried to investigate. I worked carefully to ensure you both got into that maze with a decent head start, which would make my task of getting rid of the other champions easier so your way would be clearer. But then...I had to contend with your idioticity and teenage tamptrums. Between the Yule Ball and the second task, I feared everything would fall apart at the seams when I saw you two fight. I kept a close watch on your both and kept tabs on your strained relationship, knowing neither of you had worked out that egg's clue yet, so I had to give you two another hint -"

"No, no you didn't..." I said weakly, my voice strained. "Cedric helped us, gave us the clue -"

"Well, who else would have told Cedric to open the egg underwater? I trusted him enough to pass the information onto you both. Decent people are quite easy to manipulate, Powter. I knew Cedric would want to repay you two for telling him about the dragons in the first task, and he did so. But even then you two still seemed likely to fail. I watched everything, down to the last second, saw you two poring over book after book in the library. Only Power here realized the book you both needed was in the boys' dormitory the whole time, and it was only at the last second, but she saved my plan all the same. I planted that book with Longbottom early on, Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean, knowing it would give you all the information you needed on gillyweed. I expected one or both of you to ask anyone you could for help. Longbottom would have told you two in an instant and he did, without either of you even approaching him first. Power has a good head on her shoulders, a strong brain, but you, Potter," his magical eye swirled from me to Harry when he said his name and it quivered in its socket as it looked him over, "you...you have a great streak of pride and independence that could very well have ruined everything. Thankfully, Power cares for you so much she did what she could to keep you above water.

"But there was another innocent source I could count on. I knew Power wouldn't be able to find you, Potter, before the task and give you the gillyweed, so I enlisted the help of that house-elf named Dobby you both mentioned at the Yule Ball, the one that gave you both those socks. I called the elf to the staffroom to take some robes to the washroom to clean and it was lucky enough that Power found him outside, and I staged a loud conversation with Professor McGonagall about the hostages put in the lake, reinforcing the urgancy to find you. Power gave the elf the gillyweed and he scampered about the school to find you, Potter..."

Over Harry's shoulder, I could see Moody's wand pointed directly at his heart, and my hand clutched Harry's arm protectively. Behind Moody, the Foe-Glass was alive with foggy shapes.

"You both took so long in that lake, Powter, I thought you two drowned. Luckily, Dumbledore took your stupidity for nobility and gave you both high marks. I could breath easier again.

"It was much easier in that maze for you two than it should have been, of course," Moody said, breathing a little bit faster now. "I patrolled the perimeter, able to see through the outer hedges, curse any obstacles out of your way. I stunned Fleur Delacour as she went past and put the Imperius Curse on Krum so he could curse Diggory and leave your path to the cup clear."

This just wasn't making sense, it couldn't really be true. Moody was Dumbledore's friend, a famous Auror that had caught so many Death Eaters, filled pratically every cell in Azkaban with Voldemort's followers. So...why...? More movement caught my eye and I lifted my gaze to the Foe-Glass again. The foggy shapes were sharpening, becoming more distinctive. I could almost see distinct features in each. There were three people, moving closer and closer, but Moody paid them no mind, his magical eye still swirling between Harry and myself.

"The Dark Lord was unable to kill either of you, even though he wanted to, with every fiber of his being," Moody said breathlessly. "Just imagine how he will reward me when he finds I have done the task he was unable to. I hand you two to him on a silver platter so he could regenerate himself, and then I kill you both for him. I will be honored above all. I will be his loyalest, closest supporter...closer than a son..."

Moody's normal eye bugged, his magical eye whizzing more wildly than before. The door was barred; neither Harry nor I would be able to reach our wands in time...

"The Dark Lord and I," Every last little bit of sanity had left Moody now as he towered over us, leering down at us. Harry's arm tightened around my waist and I clutched his robes. "have so much in common, more than any others. The two of us, for instance, have really disappointing fathers and had to suffer the indignity of being named after them. And we both had the immense pleasure of killing our fathers to stabilize the continual rise of the Dark Order!"

"You're mad," Harry said, sounding unable to stop himself - "completely mental!"

"I'm mad, am I?" Moody said, his voice rising uncontrollably. "We shall see! We'll see who's mad, now that the Dark Lord is back, with me as his right hand man! He's back, Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, neither of you conquered him - and now I'll conquer you both!"

Moody raised his wand, opening his mouth, ready to curse us; I felt Harry plunge his hand into his robes and push himself up, turning fully so I was hidden behind him.

"Stupefy!" A bright flash of blinding red light filled the air as there was the sound of splintering wood, followed seconds later by an ear-splitting crash as the office door was blasted into pieces -

I shot upward to stand behind Harry, looking over his shoulder again to see Moody had been thrown backward onto the floor. On the wall, I could see the figures in the Foe-Glass looking back at us, and saw that they had solidifided into Albus Dumbledore, and Professors Snape and McGonagall. Whirling around, I saw the same three figures standing in the open doorway, Dumbledore in front with his wand outstretched.

The horrible look on Dumbledore's face as he stared down at the unconscious form of Mad-Eye Moody suddenly made me understand why everyone said he was the only wizard Voldemort truly feared and fear crept down my spine despite knowing the anger was not directed at me. Cold fury replaced the warm smile that normally lined his ancient face and that familiar twinkle in his blue eyes was no longer visible behind his half-moon spectacles. A deep sense of power radiated from Dumbledore like body heat.

He took a few steps into the office, nudged his foot beneath Moody's unconscious body, and kicked him onto his back, so that we could see his face. Snape stepped into the office after him, looking into the Foe-Glass where his own glaring face was visible. Professor McGonagall made a beeline right for Harry and I.

"Come along, Potter, Power," she whispered softly. Her lips were twitching and trembling as though she was about ready to cry. "Come on...to the hospital wing..."

"No," Dumbledore said sharply.

"Dumbledore, they really ought to - look at the two of them - they've been through more than enough tonight -"

"They will stay, Minerva, because they both need to understand, so they will be able to accept it and fully recover. They both need to know who's put them through the events they've had to suffer tonight, and why they've had to suffer." Dumbledore replied curtly.

"Moody," I heard Harry say in complete disbelief as I stared at the unconscious man at our headmaster's feet, a numb feeling beginning to spread up from my toes. "How could it have been Moody?"

"This is not the real Alastor Moody," Dumbledore told us quietly. "Neither of you have ever known Alastor Moody. The real Moody wouldn't've removed either of you from my sight after the events that have occured tonight. The moment he removed you two, I knew - and I followed you."

Dumbledore bent over Moody's limp form and reached inside his robes, pulling out Moody's hip flask and a ring with a set of keys. Then he turned again to Professors McGonagall and Snape.

"Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess in your stores, and then go down to the kitchens and retrieve the house-elf Winky. Minerva, please head down to Hagrid's house. In the pumpkin patch, you will find a large black dog, which I would like you to take up to my office. Inform him I will be with him shortly and come back here."

If either of them thought these instructions particular, they hid their confusion well as they turned and left the office at once. Dumbledore walked over to the seven locked trunk in the corner, fitted the first key in a lock, and opened it. A mass of spell-books was inside. Closing that trunk, Dumbledore placed the second key in the next lock, and opened the trunk once more. Instead of the spellbooks, an assortment of broken Sneako-scopes, some parchment, quills, and a silvery Invisibility Cloak were inside. Harry and I watched in amazement as Dumbledore fit the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth keys in their respective locks and reopened the trunk each time to a different assortment of contents. Then, he finally placed the seventh key in its lock and opened the lid once more. A gasp tore from my throat and I covered my mouth.

The trunk looked to open up into a dark, underground room. Lying on the floor some ten feet below, appearing to be fast asleep, and looking to be quite thin and starved, was the real Mad-Eye Moody. His wooden leg was missing, and, beneath its lid, the socket that would have held his magical eye looked empty. Great chunks of grizzled gray hair were missing from his scalp. I looked between the sleeping Moody in the trunk and the unconscious Moody lying on the office floor, my brain numb with disbelief.

Dumbledore carefully climbed into the trunk, lowered himself down, and landed lightly on the floor beside the sleeping Moody. He knelled down next to him.

"Stunned," he said, "he's been put under the Imperius Curse to keep him quiet and he's weak from it. Voldemort and his follower would have needed to keep him alive. Harry, Cheyenne, thrown down the imposter's cloak - he's freezing. He seems to not be in any immediate danger, but Madam Pomfrey will need to see him."

Harry went over to the imposter on the floor and retrieved his cloak, which he lowered into the trunk to Dumbledore, who took it and draped it over Moody. Tucking it around the sleeping man, he clampered back out of the trunk, and took the hip flask from the desk where he'd set it down, Dumbledore unscrewed the lid and turned it upside down. From the opening, a thick glutinous liquid splattered out onto the floor.

"It's a Polyjuice Potion, Harry, Cheyenne," Dumbledore said, turning to look at us."You can both see the simplicity of it, along with its brilliance. Moody's never drank from anything except his hip flask, which he's quite well known for. The imposter would've needed to keep the real Moody near by, so he could continue making the potion. Did you both see his hair...?" Dumbledore looked down at the Moody in the trunk. "The imposter's been cutting it all year, see, those uneven patches? But with the excitement tonight, the fake Moody must've forogtten to take it as frequently as normal...every hour...on the hour...Give it a few moments."

Dumbledore pulled the chair behind the desk out and took a seat, his eyes on the unconscious Moody on the floor. Harry and I stared at him as well, silence enveloping over the three of us.

Then, before our very eyes, the face of the man before us started to change. The scars repaired themselves until the skin was left smooth; the mangled nose became whole once more and started to shrink. The long grizzled gray mane withdrew into the scalp and lightened to the color of straw. With a loud clunk, the wood leg detacted itself as a normal human leg regrew in its stead. There was an audible _pop_ as the magical eye dislodged from the socket as the man's real eye regrew in its place; the still swiveling glass eye rolled down the man's cheek and across the floor.

The man now lying before us was pale-skinned, freckled, and had a mop of fine hair. It didn't take but a second to recognize who it was, as my best friend and I had seen him once before in Dumbledore's memory, stored in his Pensieve up in his office; we'd seen him being dragged away by the dementors, screaming at Mr. Crouch, and trying to convince him he was innocent...although, lines had now appeared under his eyes and he'd aged quite a bit.

Hurried footsteps sounded outside in the corridor. Snape swept into the room with Winky at his heels. Professor McGonagall was just a few feet behind them.

"Crouch!" Snape said, stopping dead in his tracks. "Barty Crouch!"

"Oh, good heavens," Professor McGonagall said, stopping at Snape's shoulder and staring, wide-eyed at the man unconscious on the floor.

Filthy and disheaved, Winky peered curiously around Snape's legs. Her eyes widened and her mouth swung open to let loose a piercing shriek.

"Master Barty, Master Barty, why is _you_ here?"

She flung herself past Snape and onto the young man's chest.

"You is killed him! Master's son is dead!"

"He's simply Stunned, Winky. He's all right, I assure you," Dumbledore said, standing. "Step aside, please. Severus, have you brought the potion?"

Snape stepped forward and handed Dumbledore a small glass bottle filled with a clear liquid: the Veritaserum that he had threatened Harry and I with in class. Dumbledore took it, knelled next to the man on the floor, and pulled him into a sitting position against the wall beneath the Foe-Glass. His, Professor Snape, and Professor McGonagall's reflections still stood, glaring down on all of us. Winky remained on her knees beside Barty Crouch Jr., trembling, her face covered by her hands. Dumbledore opened the man's mouth and poured three small drops inside. Then, he pointed at the man's chest with his wand and said, "Ennervate."

Crouch's son opened his eyes and his face went slack, his gaze unfocused, dazed. Dumbledore shifted so he knelt before him, so that their eyes were level.

"Can you hear me?" Dumbledore asked him quietly.

The young man's eyes flickered, "Yes," he murmured.

"I would like for you to tell us how you came to be here," Dumbledore said softly. "How were you able to escape Azkaban?"

Crouch took a deep, shuddering breath and then started to speak in a flat, emotionless voice.

"My mother was my savior. She knew I was dying in there, and she persuaded my father to rescue me as a final favor. He agreed because he truly loved her, loved her like he'd never loved me. So they came to visit me and they gave me a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my mother's hairs. She drank a draft of Polyjuice Potion with one of my hairs in it and we took on one another's appearances."

Winky was shaking her head feverishly, trembling.

"Tell them no more, Master Barty, you is getting your father into trouble!"

But Crouch just took another deep breath and continued his story in the same flat voice.

"The dementors are without sight, so they could not see, but sense the prisoners. They sensed a healthy, and a dying person entering Azkaban. When my father and I left, they felt the same healthy, and dying people leave. My father was able to smuggle me out disguised as my mother, as a precaution in case any of the other prisoners were watching us through their doors.

"It wasn't long until my mother died there in Azkaban. She carefully drank Polyjuice Potion until her last hour and then she was buried under my name, still bearing my appearance. Everyone thought she was me."

Crouch's eyes flickered again.

"And once your father got you home, what did he do?" Dumbledore asked.

"He staged my mother's death and had a quiet, private funeral. Her grave is empty. The house-elf nursed me back to health. I had to remain concealed afterward, had to be controlled. There were a great number of spells my father had to use to subdue me, but once I'd recovered my strength, I only thought of finding my master...of returning to him once more."

"How was your father able to subdue you?" Dumbledore asked.

"With the Imperius Curse," Crouch said. "I was completely under my father's control. I was forced to hide under an Invisibility Cloak day and night, so no one would suspect anything, and I was always accompanied by the house-elf. She'd become my keeper and caretaker. I knew she pitied me for how I had to live, so she persuaded my father for occasional treats, rewards for my good behavior."

"Master Barty, please!" Winky sobbed through her hands. "You really ought not to tell them, we's getting into trouble..."

"Did anyone else discover that you were still alive?" Dumbledore asked softly. "Did anyone know of your existance aside from your father and the house-elf?"

"Yes...yes, there was a witch from my father's office," Crouch said, his eyes flickering once more. "Bertha Jorkins was her name. She came to the house with papers that my father needed to sign. He wasn't home. Winky showed her inside and came back to the kitchen, came back to me. But Bertha overheard Winky talking to me and came to investigate. She heard enough of our conversation to guess who it was that was hiding under the Invisibility Cloak. My father came home and she confronted him. He was forced to perform a powerful Memory Charm on her to make her forget what she'd found out, but it was too powerful. It damaged her memory forever."

"Why's she come nosing into my masters' private business?" Winky sobbed from her position on the floor. "Why she not leaving us be?"

"Tell us about the Quidditch World Cup," Dumbledore siad.

"Winky convinced my father to let me go," Crouch said, still in a monotone voice. "She spent months persuading him to let me go, knowing I hadn't left the house for years and that I loved Quidditch. She convinced him that I would be wearing my Invisibility Cloak and that I would be able to smell fresh air for once. She told him my mother would've wanted me to get out of the house, that she'd died to grant my freedom, that she wouldn't have wanted me to live a life of imprisonment. He finally gave in.

"They planned it carefully. My father led Winky and I up to the Top Box earlier in the day, telling Winky that she was to inform others that she was saving a seat for him. I sat beside her, invisible. We waited until everyone else had left the box before we left it as well. Winky appeared to be alone, no one ever knowing what was truly going on.

"But Winky never knew that I was growing stronger, that I was starting to fight off the Imperius Curse. There were times when I was almost myself again, and I had brief periods when I was outside his control. I finally broke it completely while we were in the Top Box. It felt like I was just waking up from a deep sleep. I found myself in public, right in the middle of the match. A wand was sticking out of a young man's pocket right in front of me. I hadn't been allowed to use a wand since before I went to Azkaban. I stole it without Winky knowing. Her face was hidden in her hands because she's frightened of heights."

"Oh, Master Barty, you naughty boy!" Winky whimpered, tears streaming through her fingers.

"So you took the wand, and did what with it?" Dumbledore asked.

"We went back to our tent for the night," Crouch said. "And then we heard the Death Eaters rioting, the ones who were too cowardly to go to Azkaban, the ones who had never suffered for my master, who'd turned their backs on him, those who hadn't become enslaved like I had. They were free to find him, bring him back to power, yet they did not. Instead they made a sport of tormenting the Muggles. It was their voices that woke me. I grew angry at their incompetence, and now that I had the wand, I could do something about their disloyalty.

I wanted desperately to attack them with the wand, make them pay for betraying my master. My father left the tent to free the Muggles, telling Winky to stay in the tent with me. She was frightened to see me so angry and used her own brand of magic to bind us together. She pulled me from the tent and into the forest, away from the Death Eaters, away from the riot. I tried to fight back against her, to return to the campsite, and show those Death Eaters what true loyalty meant, to punish them for their disloyalty. I shot the Dark Mark into the sky with the stolen wand.

"Ministry wizards swarmed to the scene and shot Stunning Spells everywhere. One spell came through the trees where Winky and I were and broke our connection. We were both Stunned.

"My father knew I must've been nearby as soon as Winky was discovered, and he searched the bushes where she'd been found, where he felt me lying, invisible. He waited until the other Ministry members left the forest before he put me back under the Imperius Curse and took me back home. Since she'd failed him, allowed me to acquire a wand, to nearly let me escape, he dismissed Winky."

A shrill wail of despair left Winky, and I jumped.

"Now Father and I alone remained in the house. And then..." Crouch's head rolled about on his neck, and his face split into an insane smile. "My master finally came for me."

"It was late into the night when he arrived in the arms of his servant, Wormtail. He'd found out I was still alive through Bertha Jorkins, whom he captured in Albania and tortured for information. He learned a great deal from her, about the Triwizard Tournament, about the old Auror, Moody, going to teach at Hogwarts. He tortured her until he was able to break through the Memory Charm my father had placed upon her. She'd told him I'd escaped from Azkaban and that I was imprisoned by my father to prevent me from finding him. My master knew I was still his faithful servent, perhaps one of his most faithful of all. My master conceived a plan based on the information he'd obtained from Bertha. He needed me for his plan. It was near midnight when he arrived. My father was the one that answered the door."

The smile widened, as though Crouch was retelling his sweetest memory. I could see Winky's petrified brown eyes though her fingers, as though they themselves were invisible. She seemed too stunned to speak.

"It was rather quick. As he had imprisoned me, my father was himself imprisoned; my master placed him under the Imperius Curse, forcing him to attend to his business as usual, to act as though nothing was amiss. I was reawakened once more and I returned to myself again. I felt more alive than I had in years."

"And what is it Lord Voldemort asked you to do?" Dumbledore asked.

"He asked if I was willing to risk everything I had for him. I was more than ready. It was my greatest dream, my greatest ambition to serve him, to prove myself worthy. He told me he needed a faithful servent stationed at Hogwarts, a servant who could guide Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power through the Triwizard Tournament without making it too obvious. A servant who could watch over the duo to ensure they reached the cup. I just needed to turn it into a Portkey that would take the first person, or people, to touch it straight to my master. But first -"

"You needed Alastor Moody," Dumbledore said. His blue eyes blazed angrily, although his voice was still calm.

"Wormtail and I were the ones that did it. We prepared the Polyjuice Potion beforehand so that the only thing we needed was Moody's hair. We travelled to his house. Moody struggled, made a great commontion, but we managed to subdue him just in time and conceal him in a compartment of his magical trunk. We added the hair we'd taken to the potion, which I drank, and I became Moody's double. I took his leg and magical eye, and I was ready to face Arthur Weasley when he arrived to sort out the Muggles that had heard the disturbance. I enchanted the dustbins to move around the yard, and then told Mr. Weasley that I had heard intruders in my yard, which had set off the dustbins. Then, once everything was clear, I packed up Moody's clothes, and his Dark detectors in his trunk with Moody himself, and set off for Hogwarts. I kept him alive, under the control of the Imperius Curse. I wanted to be able to question him so I could learn of his past, learn what his habits were, so I could fool even Dumbledore. I needed his hair, too, to continue to make the Polyjuice Potion. Getting the other ingredients was quite easy. I took boom-slang from the dungeons, but I had to tell the Potions master I was under orders to search his office when he found me inside."

"And where did Wormtail disappear to after you attacked Moody?" Dumbledore asked him.

"Wormtail returned to my master at my father's house, to care for him and keep a close watch over my father."

"But your father managed to escape." Dumbledore said.

"Yes. Just as I had done, my father was able to fight off the Imperius Curse after a were periods when he was aware of what was going on around him. My master soon decided it was too dangerous to let my father out of the house anymore. He forced him to send letters to the Ministry with instructions instead, instructions for his assistant, saying he was ill. But Wormtail neglected his duty. He wasn't watching him closely enough and my father escaped. My master guessed he was heading for Hogwarts, to tell Dumbledore everything that had happened, to admit he had smuggled me out of Azkaban.

"I was sent word of my father's escape and instructed to stop him at any cost. So I waited and watched the grounds, using the map I had taken from Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power, the map that had nearly ruined everything."

"Map?" Dumbledore cut in quickly. "What is this map of?"

"It's Powter's map of Hogwarts. Potter and Power both saw me on it, saw me stealing more ingredients from Snape's office one night for the Polyjuice Potion, and thought I was my father. He and I have the same first name. I took the map from the duo that night, telling them my father hated Dark wizards, made them believe my father was after Snape.

I waited for my father to arrive at Hogwarts over the next week and finally, one evening, the map showed him entering the grounds. I pulled on my Invisibility Cloak and went down to meet him. He was stumbling around the edge of the forest. And then Potter, Power, and Krum appeared. I hid and waited, knowing I couldn't hurt either Potter or Power since my master needed them, both of them. Potter and Power ran to get Dumbledore, leaving Krum with my father. I Stunned Krum and killed my father."

_"Noooo!"_ Winky wailed loudly and I jumped again. "Master Barty, why is you saying this?"

"You killed your father, and then did what with his body?" Dumbledore said, in the same soft, even voice.

"I carried it off into the forest and covered it with the Invisibility Cloak. I had the map with me, so I could find him easily once more. I watched Potter and Power run into the castle, where they met Snape outside Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore joined them not too long after. They brought Dumbledore out of the castle. I made my way out of the forest, doubled around behind them, and then went back to meet them. I told Dumbledore that Snape had informed me where I needed to go.

"Dumbledore told me to go look for my father and I went back to his body, where I watched the map, waiting until everyone else was gone. Once the coast was clear, I Transfigured my father's body into a bone and buried it, while I wore the Invisibility Cloak, in the freshly dug earth in front of Hagrid's cabin."

Silence fell over all of us. Winky's sobs were the only audible sound now. And then, Dumbledore spoke once more, "And tonight..."

"I was the one that offered to carry the Triwizard Cup into the maze before dinner," Barty Crouch Jr. whispered dramatically. "I turned it into a Portkey. My master's plan has worked perfectly. He has returned to power and I will be the most honored Death Eater of all. I will be honored beyond my wildest dreams."

His face lit up with another insane smile as his head drooped onto his shoulder. Winky wailed and sobbed at his side.


	36. The Parting of Ways

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

**The Parting of Ways**

Dumbledore stood, staring down at Barty Crouch for a moment with disgust. Then, he raised his wand once more, and ropes burst from the end, which twisted themselves around the young man and bound him tightly in place. He turned to Professor McGonagall once more.

"Minerva, would you be willing to stand guard here while I take Harry and Cheyenne upstairs?"

"Of course," Professor McGonagall said, looking slightly nauseous, as though she'd just witnessed a gruesome scene. However, she drew her wand steadily out of her robes and pointed it at Barty Crouch with a strong hand.

"Severus" - Dumbledore now turned to Snape - "kindly inform Madam Pomfrey she is needed down here; Alastor Moody will need to be transfered up to the hospital wing. Then, I would like you to go down onto the grounds, find Cornelius Fudge, and bring him up here to this office. He'll undoubtedly want to question Crouch himself. If he needs me, tell him I'll be in the hospital wing within the hour."

Snape nodded and swept out of the room without a word.

"Cheyenne? Harry?" Dumbledore said gently, turning too us now.

I felt Harry sway on the spot and my hand instinctfully grabbed his arm to steady him. The disbelief we'd felt while listening to Crouch had made us forget our wounds, but now that the story was over, the pain we felt from our wounds tonight was coming back full-force. We were both shaking. Dumbledore gripped Harry's other arm in one hand and I felt his other on my shoulder as he helped us out into the dark corridor.

"I want you both to come up to my office first, Harry, Cheyenne," he told us quietly as we headed down the passageway. "Sirius is waiting there for us."

Harry and I nodded, a kind of numb feeling filling us, mixing with the sense that we weren't really a part of reality right now. Neither of us cared; we were glad, as we didn't have to think about anything that had happened since we'd touched the Triwizard Cup together. Neither of us wanted to think of the memories, printed into our minds like fresh photographs, which kept flashing through our mind's eye. Voldemort, rising from the cauldron...Barty Crouch Jr as Moody...the Death Eaters...Cedric...coming back to ask us to bring him back to his parents...

"Professor..." I heard myself saying, as though I was outside my own body, "where are Mr. and Mrs. Diggory now?"

"Professor Sprout is with them in her office," Dumbledore said, his voice shaking for the first time since before he'd started the interrogation. "She was Head of Cedric's house, and knew him best."

We reached the stone gargoyle and Dumbledore gave the password. It sprang aside and the three of us went up the moving spiral staircase to the oak doors. Dumbledore pushed them open. Sirius stood in the middle of the office, his face drained of color and as deeply sunken as it had been when he'd escaped from Azkaban. He crossed the room in one swift moment.

"Harry, Cheyenne, are you both all right? I knew something like this - what happened?"

His hands shook as he helped us to a chair in front of the desk. He sat Harry down and I stood beside him, still gripping his arm. He slowly pulled it loose and wrapped it around my waist, pulling me down into his lap. I didn't protest, but curled up there, my head on his shoulder, holding one of his hands.

"What happened?" Sirius asked us more urgently. I turned my head slightly on Harry's shoulder to look at him.

Dumbledore started to tell Sirius everything we'd found out from Barty Crouch, but Harry and I were only half-listening. My head rolled back so my face was half-buried in Harry's shirt, our hands clutching each other like we'd die if we let go. All my bones ached, my muscles twinging at the slightest of movements, but I still didn't release my grip on my best friend. I didn't want to move, didn't want to leave him. I wanted to sleep there in his arms and not have to feel or think about anything else anymore.

A soft rush of wings filled my ears. Fawkes the phoenix had joined us in the chair, settling in the curve of my stomach, his warm weight comforting as he leaned against the two of us, blinking peacefully.

" 'Lo, Fawkes," Harry whispered, reaching up and gently stroking the phoenix's beautiful scarlet-and-gold feathers.

Dumbledore had finished telling Sirius about what we had learned and took a seat opposite Harry and I behind his desk. He watched the two of us, but we avoided his gaze; I buried my face more into his shirt and Harry nuzzled into my hair, closing his eyes. Dumbledore was going to make us relive everything that had happened tonight since we'd touched the Triwizard Cup.

"Cheyenne...Harry..." Dumbledore said quietly. "We need to know what happened to you both after you touched the Portkey in the maze."

"Can't we leave that until morning, Dumbledore?" Sirius asked harshly. I felt his hand on my shoulder and relaxed in its grip. "Please, let them sleep. They're both exhausted. I haven't seen them curl up together like this since they were babies."

Gratitude toward our godfather filled me, but it didn't seem that Dumbledore had taken any notice of his words. He leaned toward Harry and I, and, through no conscious act of our own, we lifted our heads to look back at him.

"If I thought I could help you two by putting you both into an enchanted sleep that would allow you to postpone the moment when you'd both have to think about the events tonight, then I would, without dely." Dumbledore told us gently. "But I know better than that. I know numbing the pain for a few hours would only make it worse when you two felt it again. You've both shown bravery beyond anything I could've expected, from either of you. I kindly ask that you both demonstrate your courage once more and tell us what has happened tonight."

A long, quavering note left Fawkes and I felt warmth roll down my throat and into my stomach, where it proceeded to spread through every inch of my body, bringing me back the strength I needed.

Harry and I each took a deep breath and told Dumbledore and Sirius what had happened, taking turns. Visions of the events we'd witnessed and experienced passed through my mind as we retold the story; I saw the steaming cauldron again, saw Voldemort rise once more from within, the Death Eaters Apparating from behind the graves around us and forming the tight circle around their master and his father's grave; I saw Cedric's lifeless body sprawled out on the ground beside the cup.

A few times, Sirius made a noise behind us, as though trying to say something, but Dumbledore stopped him, which made me grateful, since it was easier for us to keep going without interruptions. Relief started to raise from the depths of my mind as Harry and I retold the story, as though a great weight was being lifted from my heart. I used every ounce of discipline I had to keep talking, to keep telling the story when it was my turn, but in the back of my mind, I knew once I got it all out in the open, I would be feeling a lot better.

But when Harry told them of Wormtail piercing our arms with the dagger, Sirius let out a loud noise of exclamation and Dumbledore nearly shot to his feet, which made Harry and I jump. Dumbledore walked around the desk and told us to stretch out our arms, which we did, showing the two men the places where our robes were torn and where we'd been cut.

"He said our blood would make him stronger than if he'd used another witch or wizard's," I told Dumbledore softly. "He told us...told us the protection our...ou-our mothers had left us would be his too...He was right...he could touch either of us without hurting himself...he-he..."

"He touched Chey's face..." Harry broke in, a slightly angry tone in his voice.

For a fleeting second, I thought I saw a gleam of something close to triumph twinkle in his eyes, but I shook the thought away as Dumbledore returned to his own chair, looking as old and weary as either Harry or I had seen him.

"Very well," he said, once he'd resumed his seat. "Voldemort has been able to overcome that barrier. Harry, Cheyenne, please continue."

Harry and I went on, explaining how Voldemort had emerged from the cauldron and told them all we could remember of the speech Voldemort had given his Death Eaters. Then we told of Voldemort untying us, returning our wands, and preparing us to duel.

However, when we came to the part where the golden beam of light had connected our wands with Voldemort's, I could tell Harry's throat was starting to constrict. I knew he was trying to force himself to continue speaking, but the memories were no doubt getting to him. I took up the story then, telling Dumbledore and Sirius how we'd watched Cedric emerge from the wand, followed by the old man, Bertha Jorkins...our mothers and fathers...

Sirius was the one that broke the silence that followed.

"All three wands connected? How is that possible?" he asked, looking from Harry and I to Dumbledore.

Harry and I looked up at Dumbledore again as well. He wore an arrested sort of look.

"Priori Incantatem," we heard him mutter.

He gazed between Harry and I, looking into each of our eyes. Understanding shot between the three of us.

"The Reverse Spell effect?" Sirius said sharply.

"Exactly," Dumbledore said, nodding. "Harry, Cheyenne, and Voldemort's wands all share cores. Each contain the feather from the tail of a single phoenix. This phoenix, as a matter-of-fact," he added, nodding toward the scarlet-and-gold bird laying on my stomach.

"Our wands feathers came from Fawkes?" Harry and I asked, amazed.

"Yes. Mr. Ollivander wrote to me that you two had bought the second and third wand, the second you both had left his shop four years ago." Dumbledore said.

"So...what happens when wands meet their 'siblings'?" Sirius asked.

"They won't work properly against one another," Dumbledore told us. "However, if the owners of these wands force them to do battle, a rare effect will occur. One wand will force the other to regurgitate the spells it's performed - in reverse. This is the most recent first - two wands forcing their brother to do such a spell..."

He looked silently at Harry and I, and we nodded together.

"And this means," Dumbledore said slowly, carefully, his eyes shifting between Harry and myself, "that some form of Cedric had probably appeared."

Harry and I nodded once more.

"Wait, wait, wait...so...Diggory was able to come back to life?" Sirius asked sharply.

"There is no spell that can reawaken the dead," Dumbledore said with a heavy sigh. "The most possible outcome is possibly a kind of reverse echo. Perhaps a shadow of the living Cedric that emerged from the wand...did that occur, Harry, Cheyenne?"

"Yes...th-that's what happened..." I said slowly, starting to shake again. Harry shivered and the arms at my waist tightened. "He spoke to the two of us. Cedric's ghost or...or whatever he was...he spoke..."

"An echo that was able to retain Cedric's appearance and character." Dumbledore explained, leaning slighlty back in his chair. "Were there other similar forms that appeared...perhaps past victims of Voldemort's wand?"

"There was an old man," I said, my throat starting to constrict as tears stung the back of my eyes.

"Bertha Jorkins..." Harry whispered.

"Both your parents?" Dumbledore asked us gently.

"Yes..." Harry and I said, choking out the words.

Sirius's grip on my shoulder was so tight it was starting to become painful.

"The last murders the wand had performed were done in reverse order," Dumbledore said, nodding. "I'm sure more would've appeared if you both had maintained the connection. Now, well, Harry, Cheyenne, these echoes, the shadows...what did they do when they appeared?"

Harry and I described the figures emerging from the wand and patrolling the edges of the golden web, how they seemed to cause fear in Voldemort. And then, we described how the shadows of our fathers had told us what we needed to do, and Cedric's shadow making its final request.

My voice was starting to give now and I let it fade, leaning against Harry again with a soft sigh. I was suddenly aware of the absence of something on my shoulder and I sat up to look over Harry's, over the back of the chair. Sirius was standing behind us with his face in his hands. The warm on my stomach had left as well and I looked around to see Fawkes had fluttered down to the floor and was resting his beautiful head against Harry's injured leg. Thick, pearly tears fell from its eyes onto the wound left by the giant spider and I could see the skin mending itself, repairing itself once more.

"I shall say this again," Dumbledore said as Fawkes rose into the air and settled himself once more on his perch next to the door. "You've both shown bravery beyond anything I could've expected of either of you, Harry, Cheyenne. You've both shown bravery equal to those that have died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You've shouldered a grown wizard and witch's burden and equaled yourselves to it - you've now given us all what we have a right to expect. Come, you're both to go to the hospital wing. Neither of you are to return to the dormitories tonight. I think you should both take a Sleeping Potion so you can have some peace...Sirius, would you like to stay with them?"

"Of course," Sirius said, standing up. Harry stood with me still in his arms and gently set me back on my feet, his arm still around my waist, as Sirius changed back into a great black dog and followed Harry, Dumbledore, and I out of the office, accompanying us down a flight of stairs to the hospital wing.

As soon as Dumbledore pushed open the door, we were met by a strange sight; a harassed-looking Madam Pomfrey was standing in the middle of the infirmary, surrounded by Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Ron, Hermione, and Fred, all of whom seemed to be demanding to know where Harry and I were and what had happened to the two of us. All of them whirled around as Harry, Dumbledore, the great black dog, and I entered. Mrs. Weasley let out what sounded like a muffled sort of scream as Fred crossed the hospital wing in stride, reaching me in ten steps, his face devoid of color, looking about ready to be sick.

"Harry! Cheyenne! Oh you're both all right!"

She started to hurry forward, but Dumbledore got between her and us, putting a hand on Fred's shoulder.

"Molly, Fred," he said, holding up a hand to Mrs. Weasley, squeezing Fred's shoulder to get his attention. Fred slowly looked away from me and up at him. "Please listen to me a moment. Harry and Cheyenne have been through a horrible ordeal tonight. They've just had to relive it for me and what they both need now is sleep, peace, and quiet. If they would both like, you may all stay with them," he added as his gaze swept over Ron, Hermione, and Bill as well, "so long as none of you ask them what has happened tonight, at least not until they are ready to tell you. But not _this_ evening."

Mrs. Weasley nodded, looking as pale as a ghost. She rounded on Ron, Hermione, Bill, and Fred as though they were being rowdy, and hissed, "Did you hear? They need quiet!"

"Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey said softly, staring at the great black dog that was our godfather, "might I ask wh -?"

"This dog here will be remaining with Harry and Cheyenne for a while," Dumbledore told her simply. "I can assure you, though, that he is extremely well trained. Harry, Cheyenne - I'll wait while you both get into bed."

A rush of gratitude for our headmaster flowed through me as he asked the others not to question us. We wanted them there, sure, but I didn't think I could handle another reliving of what we'd experienced tonight.

"I'll be back again to see you both once I've met with Fudge, Harry, Cheyenne," Dumbledore said. "I would like you both to remain here in the hospital wing tomorrow until I've spoke to the school." With that, he nodded his head and left to attend to his business.

As Madam Pomfrey led us over to a nearby bed, Harry and I caught sight of the real Moody lying in a bed at the far end of the room. On the bedside table lay his wooden leg and magical eye.

"Is he all right?" Harry asked as Madam Pomfrey handed us each some pajamas.

"He'll be fine," Madam Pomfrey reassured us, pulling some screens around us so we could change. Like with our bedroom at home, Harry and I turned so we faced opposite ways, and got dressed. I pulled off my robes, folded them up, pulled on the pajamas, and crawled into bed. Harry followed me into the bed, laying on his back while I curled up by his side, leaning my head against his chest while he wrapped his arm around my waist again. Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, Fred and Sirius came around the screen and settled themselves in chairs around us. Ron and Hermione were watching us kind of cautiously, as though scared we'd lash out at them.

"We're all right," Harry told them, smiling. "Just tired."

Tears filled Mrs. Weasley's eyes as she unnecessarily smoothed our bed-covers. Fred was sitting close to the bedside behind me, rubbing my back.

Madam Pomfrey returned to us from her office, carrying a small bottle of purple potion and a couple of goblets.

"You'll both need to drink this whole potion, Harry, Cheyenne," she told us gently. "It's supposed to allow you to sleep without dreaming."

Harry shifted so we were both sitting up and we each took a goblet. I started getting drowsy after just the first mouthful. I couldn't drink more than a few more gulps before my limbs started getting heavier and I sank back into the bed, only vaguely aware of someone taking the goblet from my hands. My vision hazed and the lamps around the hospital wing started to look like earth-bound stars as they twinkled at me through the screen hiding my and Harry's bed. The feathered matress felt like a soft cloud, which I sank eagerly into, a warm body accompanying me. I leaned against it, feeling a sense of ease spreading through me. It didn't take long for me to drift off into blissful darkness.

Warmth and a replenishing sense of drowsiness was enveloped over me as I slowly returned to the awaking world. Still curled up against that familiarly soothing body, that same protective arm around my waist, I found myself content and just...happy to be there...like this was where I belonged. I sighed, my hand touching my cheek, brushing the strands of hair from my face before falling gently against Harry's side, clutching the material of his pajamas. A warm hand slid over mine, squeezing it gently. My lips tweaked, turning up at the corners. I didn't want to get up, didn't want to leave that soothing warm. It didn't seem like I'd been sleeping too long, just from the dim light I could see from behind my eyelids, it still seemed like it was nighttime.

Whispers floated around us and there were just a few close enough that I could actually hear.

"They'll wake them up if they aren't quiet!"

"What is it they're shouting about, anyway? There isn't anything else that could have really happened, right?"

My eyes fluttered open and I looked around blearily. Someone had taken off my glasses and I could see the blurred outlines of Mrs. Weasley and Bill close by. Mrs. Weasley was standing by the end of the bed.

"I can hear Fudge's voice," I heard her whisper. "And...that's Minerva McGonagall, right? But what could they be arguing about?"

Now I could hear it: people were shouting and running closer.

"It is regrettable, but please consider, Minerva -" Cornelius Fudge was saying in a loud voice.

"You should have never even brought it inside the castle!" Professor McGonagall yelled back. "What will Dumbledore do when he finds out -"

The hospital doors burst open. Harry sat up, pulling me with him, but none of the others seemed to notice since they were all staring at the door now that Bill had pulled back the screens. I felt Harry turn and reach back to grab his glasses before a gentle hand pushed mine up my nose and I smiled at my best friend in thanks.

Fudge strode up the ward, Professors McGonagall and Snape at his heels.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Fudge demanded of Mrs. Weasley.

"He's not here right now," Mrs. Weasley replied angrily. "Minister, this is a hospital wing, don't you think it'd be better if yo -"

But the doors opened again and Dumbledore swept up the ward.

"What's happened?" Dumbledore asked sharply, looking from Fudge to Professor McGonagall. "Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I'm surprised you've left your station when I've told you to stand guard over Barty Crouch -"

"Oh, believe me, Dumbledore, the Minister here has seen to it that there is no more need for that!" Professor McGonagall shrieked back.

It wasn't like Professor McGonagall to lose control like that and it both scared me and impressed me at the same time. Angry blotches of color filled her cheeks, and her hands were balled into tight fists; she trembled with uncontrolled fury.

"As soon as he was informed that we'd caught the Death Eater responsible for the events tonight, Mr. Fudge seemed to feel that his personal safety was compromised. He insisted on bringing a dementor to accomapny him to the castle and he brought it with him to the office where Barty Crouch was being held." Snape told Dumbledore in a low voice.

"I told him you wouldn't agree with that choice, Dumbledore!" Professor McGonagall fumed. "I told him you wouldn't ever allow dementors to set a foot inside the castle, but -"

"My dear lady!" Fudge roared, looking angrier than either Harry or I had seen him, "as the Minister of Magic, it is my decision whether or not I want to bring protection with me when I am interviewing a possibly dangerous -"

Professor McGonagall's voice drowned out Fudge's, however.

"The second that thing entered the office," she screamed, pointing accusingly at Fudge, trembling from head to toe, "it swooped down upon Crouch and - and - "

A chill ran the length of my spine and my stomach froze as Professor McGonagall struggled to find the right words to describe exactly what the dementor had done. Neither Harry nor I needed her to finish her sentence to know what she meant, knowing exactly what the dementor had done. It had administered its last and most fatal weapon to Barty Crouch: its Dementors Kiss. It had sucked his soul right out through his mouth and now...he was worse than dead.

"That man, by all accounts, is no loss!" Fudge bellowed. "It seems to me that he is responsible for more than a few deaths."

"Yes, but now he cannot give testimony as to _why_ he had killed those people in the first place. Without Crouch, we have no evidance of his actions," Dumbledore said, staring hard at Fudge, as though he was just seeing him plainly for the first time.

"Why he'd killed them? These isn't really a mystery there, is there?" Fudge said. "The man was a raving lunatic! And from what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to believe he has done all this under You-Know-Who's instruction!"

"The instructions that drove him to such actions were given to him by Lord Voldemort, Cornelius," Dumbledore told him. "Those people were killed merely as by-products of Voldemort's plan to restore himself to full strength once more. This plan has succeeded. Voldemort's been restored to his body."

Fudge looked as though someone had just punched him in the face with something heavy. Blinking dazily, he stared at Dumbledore as though he couldn't quite wrap his mind around what he had just heard. He started sputtering, still goggling Dumbledore.

"You-Know-Who...has returned? Dumbledore, that is preposterous. Do not joke about such things..."

"Just as Minerva and Severus have doubtless informed you," Dumbledore said, "we personally heard Barty Crouch confess, under the influence of Veritasrum, he told us how his father smuggled him out of Azkaban and how Voldemort went to free him after he learned of his existance from Bertha Jorkins. He was used to capture Harry and Cheyenne. I'm telling the truth when I say their plan his succeeded. Crouch has helped Voldemort return."

"Now, see here, Dumbledore." Fudge said, a small smile beginning to cross his lips, which surprised me, "you cannot seriously believe You-Know-Who has returned, can you? Come on now...certainly Crouch may have disillusioned himself to believe he was acting upon You-Know-Who's orders - but to take his word for it, Dumbledore..."

"The moment Harry and Cheyenne touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, they were transported right into Voldemort's grasp," Dumbledore told him steadily. "They both witnessed Lord Voldemort's rebirth themselves. If you would kindly step up to my office, I will explain it properly to you."

Dumbledore glanced in my and Harry's direction and saw we were awake, but he shook his head and said, "I'm afraid I cannot permit you to question either Harry or Cheyenne tonight, however."

Fudge's bizarre smile lingered as he, too, glanced toward Harry and myself. Then, he turned back at Dumbledore, and said, "So, you are - um - prepared to take Cheyenne and Harry's word on this, then, Dumbledore?"

A moment of silence followed, which was broken by Sirius's growling. He raised his hackles and bared his teeth at Fudge.

"Certainly, I believe both Harry and Cheyenne," Dumbledore said, his eyes blazing. "I heard Crouch's confession myself, and then Harry and Cheyenne's account of the events that happened after they touched the Triwizard Cup; two stories that interlocked and explained all the details of the events following Bertha Jorkin's disappearance last summer."

That strange smile still lingered on Fudge's face as he glanced at Harry and I again before he spoke once more.

"You're prepared to believe Lord Voldemort has returned, on just the word of a lunatic murder, and a couple of teenagers who are...well.."

Fudge shot Harry and I a nasty look and it suddenly clicked.

"You've been reading Rita Skeeter's articles, haven't you, Mr. Fudge?" I said him softly.

Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Fred all jumped, having not realized before that either of us had awakened.

Fudge reddened a little bit, but a defiant gleam twinkled in his eyes.

"And what if I have?" he asked, looking at Dumbledore. "What if I've discovered that you've been keeping certain facts about the couple quiet? Parselmouths, are they? All those funny turns all over the place -"

"I assume you're referring to the pains Cheyenne and Harry have been experiencing with their scars?" Dumbledore replied coolly.

"So you do admit they've been having these pains, then?" Fudge said quickly. "The headaches? Nightmares? Hallucinations?"

"Please, listen to me, Cornelius," Dumbledore said, stepping closer to Fudge, radiating that same sense of power I'd felt when he'd Stunned young Crouch. "Both Harry and Cheyenne are as sane as either you or I. Those scars on their foreheads have done nothing to infect their brains. I believe they hurt them when Lord Voldemort is close by, or when he is feeling a particularly strong emotion."

Fudge took a half step back from Dumbledore, but the stubborn look never faded from his features.

"Forgive me, Dumbledore, but I have never heard such a thing as any cursed scar acting as a warning bell before..."

"Look here, Chey and I've seen Voldemort return!" Harry shouted, unwrapping the arm from my waist and moving to get up. I went to go after him, but Fred's hand stopped me and I sat back. Mrs. Weasley forced Harry back onto the bed beside me. "We saw the Death Eaters _and_ we can give names! There was Lucius Malfoy -"

Snape moved quite suddenly and my gaze slid to him, but Snape's eyes flew back to Fudge almost immediately.

"The Malfoys are a very old family that has made donations to causes that have needed it! He was cleared!" Fudge said, looking thoroughly insulted.

"Macnair!" I told him.

"He was also cleared and now has a job for the Ministry!"

"Avery -"

"Nott -"

"Crabbe -

"Goyle -"

"You're both merely repeating the names of those accused of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!" Fudge said angrily. "You two could have very well found those names in old trail reports! Oh, for heaven's sake, Dumbledore, these two were full of some kind of crackport story last year, too - their tales are only getting taller, and yet you continue to swallow them - the couple can converse with snakes! You still think they are trustworthy?"

"You foolish man!" Professor McGonagall cried, exasperated. "Look at what has happened to Cedric Diggory and Mr. Crouch! These deaths weren't the random acts of a lunatic!"

"And yet I have no evidence to suggest otherwise!" Fudge roared back, his anger matching hers as his face turned a nasty shade of purple. "It seems to me you are all determined to start a mass panic that could destabilize everything the Ministry has worked hard for these past thirteen years!"

I coudln't quite wrap my mind around what Fudge was saying now. I'd always thought Fudge was a kind man with a very good kind of personality despite being a little pompous and blustering, but still...In front of me, however, there stood an angry, short wizard, refusing, point-blank, to accept the possibility of disruption in his comfortable and ordered world - to believe that Voldemort could have returned after all this time.

"Voldemort _has_ returned, Cornelius," Dumbledore repeated softly. "If you can accept this fact straightaway and take the necessary measures to ensure everone's safety, we might just be able to save this situation. I think the first necessary step is to remove the dementors from command of Azkaban -"

'Preposterous, Dumbledore!" Fudge cut in angrily. "Remove the dementors from Azkaban? I will most likely be killed out of office for even suggesting such a thing! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night knowing the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!"

"The other half sleep less soundly in their beds, Cornelius, knowing you've put Lord Voldemort's most dangerous followers in the care of creatures that will join his side the instant he asks them!" Dumbledore replied coolly. "They will not remain loyal to you forever, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them a much wider scope of power and pleasure than you ever can! With the dementors supporting him, and all his old supporters returned to his ranks, you'll be hard pressed to stop him from regaining the power he once had, thirteen years ago!"

Fudge was gaping at Dumbledore wordlessly, as though he couldn't find the words to express his outrage.

"The second step you must take straight away," Dumbledore pressed, frowning, "is to send a envoy to the giants."

"Envoy to the giants?" Fudge shrieked, appearing to find his tongue again. "What kind of madness is this?"

"You need to extrend a hand of friendship to them, now, before it's too late," Dumbledore said, "or Voldemort will persuade them, just like before, that he alone can give them their rights and freedom!"

"You cannot be serious!" Fudge gasped as he shook his head and retreated farther from Dumbledore. "If anyone in the magical world caught wind that I tried to approach the giants - people cannot stand them, Dumbledore - it will be the end of my career -"

"You've been blinded," Dumbledore's voice rose now, the aura of power around him becoming more palpable as his eyes blazed again, "by the love of your current position, Cornelius! You've always placed too much importance on the, so called, purity of blood! You fail to realize that it is important what a person grows into, not what they are born into! That dementor has just destroyed the remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any of the others - and did you happen to see what he had chosen to do with his life? I'm telling you now that you need to take the steps I've suggested and if you do, you'll go down as one of the bravest Ministers of Magic that's ever been known. However, if you fail to act, then you will be forever known as the man that stepped aside and allowed Voldemort the chance to destroy the very world we've been trying to rebuild!"

"You're all insane..." Fudge whispered, backing away once more. "Completely mad..."

Silenced followed then. Madam Pomfrey stood frozen at the foot of my and Harry's bed, her hands over her mouth. Mrs. Weasley stood over Harry and I, her hand still on Harry's shoulder to keep him from getting up. Fred stood protectively by my side of the bed, his hand on my shoulder as well. Bill, Ron, and Hermione stared, hard, at Fudge.

"If you're determined to shut your eyes and let your blind desicions carry you this far, Cornelius," Dumbledore said, "then I think we have reached a parting of ways. You may act as you see fit. And I will do the same."

There wasn't a single hint of a threat in Dumbledore's voice; in fact, it sounded like it was just a statement, but Fudge bristled as though Dumbledore was advancing on him with a wand.

"Now you see here, Dumbledore," he growled, waving a threatening finger at him. "I have always given you free rein because I've always had a lot of respect for you. I've kept quiet even when there were decisions made that I didn't fully agree with. There aren't many who would have turned a blind eye if you'd hired a werewolf, kept a half-giant, or decided what to teach your students without any reference to the Ministry. But if you're going to work against me -"

"The only man I ever intend to work against is Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said softly. "If you are still against him as well, then Cornelius, we remain on the same side."

It didn't appear Fudge could think of any answer to this. He rocked uneasily on his heels for a moment, spinning his bowler hat in his hands. Finally, with a small plea in his voice, he said, "Dumbledore, he can't be back, he just can't..."

Snape strode past Dumbledore toward Fudge, rolling up his left sleeve. He held out his forearm, showing it to Fudge, who flinched.

"There, do you see this?" Snape growled harshly. "Although the Dark Mark is not as clear as it was an hour ago, when it burned black, it is still visible. All the Death Eaters had this sign burned into them by the Dark Lord himself, so each Death Eater can distinguish another from a crowd and so the Dark Lord can summon them to him at any second. He could achieve this by touching the Mark of the nearest Death Eater, causing the others to Disapparate and Apparate, instantly, at his side. My Mark has been growing clearer all year, as has Karkaroff's, which is why he fled tonight. We both felt our Marks burn and we knew he'd returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance and he's betrayed too many of the other Death Eaters to be sure he'd be welcomed back into the team."

Fudge stepped back from Snape as well, shaking his head. It looked as though Snape's words had just gone in one ear and straight out the other. He stared, visibly disgusted by the ugly mark on Snape's arm, then he looked up at Dumbledore and whispered, "I haven't a clue what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I think I've heard quite enough. I have nothing else I need to say. I'll be in touch tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss how this school is run. I need to return to the Ministry."

He was almost at the door when he stopped and turned around again. He strode back up the ward, and stopped at my and Harry's bed.

"These are your winnings," he said shortly as he pulled out a large bag of gold from his pocket and dropped it onto one of the bedside tables. "One thousand Galleons. I would have presented it to you both in a big presentation ceremony, but considering the circumstances..."

Cramming the bowler hat onto his head, he strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The moment he'd disappeared, Dumbledore turned to the group surrounding my and Harry's bed.

"There is a great deal of work to be done," he said. "Molly...am I correct in believing I can count on you and Arthur?"

"Of course," Mrs. Weasley said, white at the lips, but looking resolute all the same. "We know how Fudge is. Arthur's fondness for Muggles has held him back at the Ministry all these years, but Fudge things it's because he lacks proper wizarding pride."

"Then I'll need to send Arthur a message," Dumbledore said. "We must notify all those we can persuade with the truth immediately. Arthur is well placed to contact those in the Ministry who aren't as shortsighted as Cornelius."

"I'll go talk to Dad," Bill said, standing. "I'll head out now."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, smiling slightly in thanks. "Tell your father of the events that have occured tonight and that I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He needs to be discreet, though, so Fudge doesn't think I'm interfering with the Ministry -"

"Just leave it to me," Bill said, clapping a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder, tossling my hair, kissing his mother on the cheek, and grabbing his cloak. He pulled it on as he strode quickly from the room.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said, turning to Professor McGonagall now, "Could you kindly retrieve Hagrid and tell him I'd like to see him in my office at the closest possible convience. Also - if you can consent her to come - Madame Maxime."

Professor McGonagall nodded and left wordlessly.

"Poppy," Dumbledore said to Madam Pomfrey, "would you kindly go down to Professor Moody's office for me and retrieve the house-elf, Winky, there? she will be in considerable distress, so I'll ask that you do what you can for her and then take her back to the kitchens. I believe Dobby will take care of her for us."

"Very...very well, headmaster," Madam Pomfrey said, looking surprised as she left too.

Dumbledore made sure the door was properly closed and that Madam Pomfrey's footsteps had resided before he spoke once more.

"And now, I believe it is time for two of our number to recognize one another for what they truly are. Sirius, if you would."

The great black dog sitting next to my and Harry's bed looked up at Dumbledore and, instantly, a man replaced him.

Mrs. Weasley screamed and leapt away from him. Fred leapt backward as well, paling again.

"Sirius Black!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs, pointing a trembling finger at him.

"Mum, shut up!" Ron yelled, jumping to his feet. "It's all right! He won't hurt you!'

Snape had neither yelled nor jumped backward, but by the look on his face, I knew he was both horrified and furious.

"Him!" he snarled, glaring at Sirius, whose face equaled Snape's in fury. "Why is he here?!"

"He's here at my invitation," Dumbledore said, watching the childhood enemies glaring at one another. "As are you, Severus. I trust the two of you and I think it is about time you lay aside your old differences and trust one another."

_Dumbledore's asking for a near miracle!_ I thought, frowning, as I watched Sirius and Snape eye each other loathingly.

"I shall settle for a short term lack of open hostility." Dumbledore said and I could catch the small stitch of impatience in his voice. "You are both on the same side now and I would like to see you shake hands. Time is short and unless the small number of us who are aware of the truth do not stand united, we will not stand a chance at all."

Slowly, Sirius and Snape stepped closer, still glaring at one another as though they wished the other nothing by ill. They took each other's hand and shook them once, then released each other so quickly it looked like they'd been a couple of positive ions repelling one another.

"That will do for now," Dumbledore said, stepping between them again. "Now, I have a job for each of you. Although Fudge's attitude was not unexpected, it still changes everything. Sirius, I need you to set off for Remus Lupin's house at once. You are to alert him, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, the old crowd, right away. Lie low at Lupin's for a while and I will contact you there shortly."

"No!" I said, sitting up abruptly. Harry gave a small sound of dispproval behind me. Both of us wanted Sirius to stay. We didn't want to have to say goodbye so soon.

"You'll both see me again soon, Harry, Cheyenne," Sirius said, turning to us. "I can promise you both that. But I have to do whatever I can to help. You both understand, don't you?"

"Yes..." Harry and I both said slowly. "Yes...of course we do."

Sirius grasped Harry's hand briefly, brushed my hair from my face, nodded to Dumbledore and transformed back into his black dog form. He ran the length of the room to the door, turned the handle with a paw and disappeared.

Dumbledore now turned to Snape, "Severus, you do know what I'm about to ask you, don't you? If you're prepared..."

"I am," Snape said bravely, looking paler than normal even though his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

"Then I wish you good luck," Dumbledore said, watching with a trace of apprehension on his face as Snape swept soundlessly after Sirius.

It was another minute or two before Dumbledore spoke again.

"I need to go downstairs now and attend to the Diggorys." He finally said. "Harry - Cheyenne - take the rest of your potion and I will come to see you all later."

I flopped back against the pillows with Harry as Dumbledore disappeared. Hermione, Ron, Mrs. Weasley, and Fred were all watching us. None of them spoke for a long time.

"Come on, you've both got to take the rest of your potion, Harry, Cheyenne," Mrs. Weasley said at last. Her hand nudged the sack of gold on our bedside cabinet as she reached for the bottle and goblets. "You'll both have a nice long rest. Just try and think of something else for a while...like...like about what you'll do with your winnings!"

"We don't want that gold," Harry said in an emotionless voice as I curled up by his side again, leaning my head against his chest. "Whoever wants it can have it. Neither of us should have won. It should have been Cedric's."

The swell of emotions that I'd been fighting on and off again since Harry and I had come out of the maze threatened to consume me now and I felt a sob rise in the back of my throat as tears stung the back of my eyes. I clutched Harry's shirt, my eyes clenched tightly, tremors moving through my body as I fought back the emotions crashing over me.

"It wasn't either of you faults, Harry, Cheyenne," I vaguely heard Mrs. Weasley whisper. A whimper escaped my lips and a hot tear ran the length of my cheek. I buried my face in Harry's chest, wishing they would all look away, not wanting them to see me like this.

Suddenly, a warm, comforting arm wrapped around me, pulling me up into a squat body. I opened my eyes, surprised and another sob threatened to escape as I found myself in Mrs. Weasley's arms, along with my best friend. There were no memories in my mind of anyone hugging me like this, comforting me as a mother would her child when it was in distress. The true weight of everything I'd seen and experienced tonight fell directly over me as Mrs. Weasley held Harry and I to her. The faces of my parents swam in my mind, intermixing with the sight of Cedric lying dead on the ground. Another temor ran through me and I let loose the sob that had built in my throat as I leaned against Mrs. Weasley, turning to bury my face in her shoulder instead.

A loud slamming noise made me jump back from Mrs. Weasley, who broke the embrace with Harry and I. Hermione stood by the window, holding something tightly in her hand.

"Sorry," I heard her whisper.

"Your potion, Harry, Cheyenne," Mrs. Weasley said quickly, using the sleeve of her robes to wipe her eyes.

Harry and I drank it all in one gulp each. The effect of the potion was instantaneous. Irresistible waves of dreamless sleep crashed over me. I fell back against the pillows and drifted off into the blissful empitness that was unconsciousness.


	37. The Beginning

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

**The Beginning**

Only a few scattered memories of the new few days remained in my mind when I looked back upon them even just a month later. It was as though my body had been filled with too much from the events of that night that it took a few days before I was able to take in anything new. The memories from those days were painful and the worst memory of all seemed to be my and Harry's meeting with the Diggorys the very next morning.

They blamed neither of us for what had happened to their son; in fact, they were both thankful we'd returned Cedric's body to them. Mr. Diggory sobbed almost through the entire interview. Mrs. Diggory's grief appeared to be beyond tears.

"Cedric suffered very little, then," she said when Harry had explained how Cedric had died. "And just think of it, Amos...he died just after he won the tournament. He had to have been happy."

The couple climbed to their feet and Mrs. Diggory looked back down at Harry and I and said, "You two look after yourselves and each other, all right? You deserve to be happy."

I reached behind Harry and picked up the sack of golden from the bedside table, holding it out to them.

"Harry and I want you two to take this," I told her softly, gently. "Cedric was the one that got to the cup first, so it should have been his..."

But she backed away from us, shaking her head.

"Oh no, its yours', dears, we couldn't...you two keep it."

The following evening, Harry and I were allowed to return to Gryffindor Tower. Dumbledore had spoken to the whole school at breakfast that morning, from what Ron and Hermione told us. He'd requested that everyone leave Harry and I alone and not ask us any questions or badger us for any details on what had occured in the maze. Most people seemed to skirt around us in the corridors now, avoiding our eyes. Some whispered behind their hands as we passed and we guessed many had believed what Rita Skeeter had written about us being disturbed and possibly dangerous. Maybe they were forming their own theories about how Cedric had died. I couldn't even bring myself to really care. My best times were when I was with my best friends and we were all talking about something other than what had happened, or else when we let each other sit in silence while we all played chess. It seemed to me that the four of us had established a deep understanding that allow for us to just be together without having to converse, something Harry and I had built together over the years we'd been friends, before we'd come to Hogwarts. We just waited wordlessly for any kind of sign of the happenings outside of Hogwarts, knowing it was useless to just speculate about what could be coming until we knew exactly what was going on. We only touched on the subject once: when Ron told Harry and I about Mrs. Weasley meeting with Dumbledore before she'd left for home.

"She wanted to ask him if you both could come straight to us this summer," he said. "But he wants you both to go back to the Dursleys, at least at first."

"Why would he?" Harry and I asked.

"She told us Dumbledore has his reasons," Ron said, shaking his head grimly. "But...I suppose we'll just have to trust him, right?"

The only other person apart from Ron and Hermione that Harry and I felt even remotely comfortable talking to was Hagrid. Since we no longer had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, we had those lessons free and the four of us used our free period on Thursday afternoon to head down and visit Hagrid in his cabin. It was a bright, sunny day and the front door of the cabin was propped open to enjoy the warm air. Fang bounded out the open door toward us as we approached, barking and wagging his tail happily.

"Who's there?" Hagrid called, coming to the door. "Harry! Cheyenne!"

He strode out to meet up, pulling Harry and I each into a one-armed hug, crushing our ribs in the process, and said, "It's good ter see yeh, mates. Good ter see yeh."

Two bucket-sized cups and saucers sat on the wooden table in front of the fireplace when we entered the cabin.

"Bin havin' a cuppa tea with Olympe," Hagrid said. "She's jus' left."

"Wait, who?" Ron asked him curiously.

"I mean Madame Maxime, o' course!" Hagrid said.

"So you two have made up, have you?" Ron asked.

"I dunno what yeh're talkin' about," Hagrid said passively, fetching more cups from his dresser. After he'd brewed tea and offered us a plate of doughy cookies, he leaned back in his chair and surveyed Harry and I closely with his beetle-black eyes.

"You both all righ'?" he asked us gruffly.

"Yeah, we're fine," Harry said.

"No, neither o' yeh're," Hagrid said with a soft grunt. "Course neither o' yeh are. But yeh will be."

Harry and I looked at one another, but said nothing.

"I knew one o' these days he was goin' ter come back," Hagrid said. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I looked up at him, shocked. "I've known it fer years now, Harry, Cheyenne. Knew he was bidin' his time and it was on'y a matter o' time until he returned and now he has. But don' worry. We'll fight, try an' stop him before he gets a good hold, just as Dumbledore plans. He's a great man, Dumbledore. 'S ong as he's 'round, everythin' should be fine."

Hagrid's bushy eyebrows rose at the skepetical looks on our faces.

"Eh, it's no good sittin' an' worryin' abou' it," he said. "We'll meet whatever's comin'. What's comin' will come. Dumbledore told me wha' yeh two did, Harry, Cheyenne."

Pride swelled in Hagrid's chest as he looked at Harry and I.

"Yeh both did as much as either of yeh fathers' would've done, an' I can' give any higher praise than that."

I gave him a weak smile. It was the first time I'd smiled in days, first time I'd ever even smirked. "So...wha-what did Dumbledore ask you to do, Hagrid?" I asked him softly. "We know he sent Professor McGonagall down to ask you and Madame Maxime to meet him..."

"Dumbledore's got a little job fer me and Olympe - Madame Maxime - ter do over the summer," Hagrid said. "It's a secret though, so I'm not s'pposed ter talk abou' it, not even ter any o' yeh. Madame Maxime was unsure at firs', but I think I persuaded her."

"Has it got anything to do with Voldemort?" Harry asked.

Hagrid flinched at the sound of his name.

"It migh' be," he told us evasively. "Anyway, who'd like ter come an' see the las' skrewt with me? Jokin' - jokin'!" he added hastily as soon as he saw the horrified looks on our faces.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The year had passed too quickly for my liking. With my heart as heavy as a rock, I packed my trunk up in my dormitory the night before I was to return to Privet Drive with Harry. This year's Leaving Feast would no doubt be a depressing event, despite previous years events, where we would be learning of the Inter-House Championship winner. This year's wasn't going to be as fun. And, since we'd left the hospital wing, Harry and I had avoided the Great Hall whenever it was full, wanting to avoid the stares of our fellow students as well. But now, we wouldn't be so lucky...

The usual decorations were missing when Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I entered the Hall on that final evening. Normally decorated in the winning House's colors for the Leaving Feast, the walls were baren, aside from the wall behind the teacher's table, which was covered in black drapes. I knew right away they were there as a sign of respect for Cedric.

The real Mad-Eye Moody had now taken his seat at the staff table, with his wooden leg and magical eye in tact. Looking extremely twitchy, he would jump whenever someone spoke to him, and I could find no possible reason to blame him; Moody's fear of attack was bound to have increased during his ten-month imprisonoment in his very own trunk. The chair where Professor Karkaroff normally sat was empty and I wondered vaguely where he could have gone and if Voldemort had caught him. I wordlessly followed Harry, Ron, and Hermione to the Gryffindor table and we took seats next to Fred, George, and Lee Jordan. Fred smiled at us when we sat down and wrapped a soothing arm around my shoulders. I leaned against him, sighing softly. Stangely, since the second task, the comfort I'd felt whenever I was in Fred's arms seemed to steadily decrease and I felt myself start to grow farther and father away from him. Now, it felt like I was being pulled toward my best friend...But why...?

"Hey, Chey, I think Snape was just watching us..." Harry whispering in my ear pulled me from my conflicting thoughts and I lifted my head, my gaze sliding over each of the adults sitting at the table. Madame Maxime sat with Hagrid, who she was conversing quietly with. Professor McGonagall and Snape were in their normal seats. My eyes slid over our Potions master, who was staring determinatedly at the table in front of him, looking as sour and unpleasant as he ever had. I watched him, wondering what he was thinking and what his mission could have been, what Dumbledore could have possible had him do, and if he was truly on our side...if he was really undercover for Voldemort...

Dumbledore standing to make his speech broke my thoughts and I turned my gaze to him. Filled with less chatter than it normally was, the Great Hall became dead quiet as soon as the Headmaster had gotten to his feet.

"The end of another year..." Dumbledore said slowly, looking around at us all, taking a moment to pause as his eyes fell upon the Hufflepuff table. It seemed to have become the most subdued table since before he'd even gotten to his feet. The sad and pale faces peering out at the rest of us sent a thorn through my heart.

"There is much I wish to say to you all tonight," Dumbledore said, "but first, I must acknowledge the loss of an excellent young man, who should be sitting here with us now," he gestured respectfully at the Hufflepuffs, "enjoying this feast. Now, I would like you all to stand, please, and raise your glasses in respect, to Cedric Diggory."

As one, all the students and teachers stood, the benches scraping as we got up. We all raised our goblets, and echoed, in a single, low, rumbling voice, "Cedric Diggory."

Through the crowd, I spotted Cho standing by the Ravenclaw table. Tears poured steadily down her face and she was sniffling. I sat silently again with Fred and Harry on either side of me.

"Cedric was the kind of person that exerted many of the qualities distinguished by Hufflepuff House," Dumbledore continued. "He was a kind and loyal friend, a hard worker, and he placed a high value on fair play. His death has no doubt affected you all deeply, whether you personally knew him or not. Therefore, I think you all have the right to know the exact cause of death."

I sat straight up, sucking in a breath as I stared at Dumbledore.

"Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort."

Panicked whispers swept the Great Hall. I looked around quickly, seeing many of the students staring at Dumbledore in horrific disbelief. He watched them with a perfectly calm expression as they slowly muttered themselves back into silence.

"The Ministry of Magic had not wished for me to inform you of such a thing," Dumbledore continued once more. "I know it's possible some of your parents will be furious that I have told you, either because they think I shouldn't tell students so young as you or because they do not want to believe Lord Voldemort has actually returned. However, I believe that telling a lie is not the presumable way of handling such situations, and that attempting to pretend Cedric died from some bizzare accident would be a great insult to his memory."

Stunned and frightened, every single face in the Hall was turned in Dumbledore's direction now...or nearly every face. Across the hall at the Slytherin table, I spotted Draco Malfoy whispering something to Crabbe and Goyle, and pointed it out to Harry. Anger boiled in the pit of my stomach at the lack of respect he was showing and my palm itched to slap him again, but I forced my anger down and looked up at Dumbledore once more.

"There is a couple who were mentioned in connection to Cedric's death," Dumbledore went on. "I am speak, naturally, of Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power."

A strange ripple crossed the hall as a few heads turned in my and Harry's direction before they turned back to Dumbledore.

"Both Harry Potter and Cheyenne Power were able to escape Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore continued then. "They both risked their own lives to return Cedric's body to Hogwarts so he could have the proper burial. In every respect, they've both shown the sort of bravery very few witches and wizards have ever shown when they've faced Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honor them."

Dumbledore turned gravely in my and Harry's direction and raised his goblet to us as well. Almost everyone in the Great Hall followed his example, murmuring our names just as they had Cedric's, and they all drank to us. The Slytherins, I noticed, however, had remained defiantly in their seats, all of their goblets untouched. Without the possesion of a magical eye, Dumbledore had little clue of this occurance.

Once everyone had resumed their seats once more, Dumbledore continued on with his speech, "The aim of the Triwizard Tournament was to promote magical understanding between the nationalities and now, in the wake of Voldemort's return to power, such ties between our schools is more important than ever it was before."

Dumbledore turned his gaze from Madame Maxime and Hagrid, to Fleur Delacour and the other Beauxbaton students, to Viktor Krum and the Durmstrangs at the Slytherin table. A wary look was enveloped over Krum's face, as though he'd expected something harsh to come from our headmaster.

"Every guest in this hall tonight," Dumbledore said, his eyes lingering on the Durmstrang students, "is welcomed back here at Hogwarts at any time they wish to come. I will say this once again to you all - in light of Lord Voldemort's resurrection we are all only as strong as we are united and as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort's gift of spreading discord and distrust is very great. We will be able to fight it only if we show an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing if our goals are identical and our hearts open.

"It's my belief that we're all facing dark and difficult times ahead. A few of you here in this Hall have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort himself. Many of your families could have been torn apart already. And yet just a week has passed since we have lost a student..."

"And remember Cedric, remember him how he was. Remember, should the time come when you have to make the choice between what is right and what is easy, remember the fate of the boy who was good, kind, and brave, because he strayed across Lord Voldemort's path. Remember Cedric Diggory."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All my things were packed away in my trunk; Elon was tucked safely in his cage on top of it. My owl and trunk would be taken down separately and put on the train with us at the station. Right now, I just had to wait with Ron, Hermione, and Harry in the crowded entrance hall with the rest of the fourth years for the carriages that would take us back to Hogsmeade station. The day was beautiful and warm, just like it had been over the last month. I imagined Privet Drive to be hot and leafy, with its neat flower beds and hedges, every single leaf cut perfectly to match simultaneously the way it always was when Harry and I got back from Hogwarts. The thought bored me to tears.

" 'Arry! Sheyanne!"

Harry and I looked around to see Fleur Delacour hurrying up the stones steps toward us. Far across the grounds behind her, we could see Hagrid helping Madame Maxime back two of her giant horses into their harnesses. The Beauxbatons carriage was about ready to take off.

"I 'ope to see you both again," Fleur said as she reached us, holding out her hand. "I 'ope to get a job 'ere, to improve my English."

"I think it's very good already," Ron said in a strangled tone. Hermione scowled as Fleur smiled at him.

"Good-bye, 'Arry, Sheyanne," Fleur said once she'd shaken both our hands and turned to go. "It 'az been a pleasure meeting you two!"

My spirits rose at the thought that I'd actually made a few friend in Fleur, but my mood soured at the look I could see on Harry's face as he watched her hurry back across the lawns to Madame Maxime. My heart pinched and I turned away, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out through my nose.

"Wonder how the Durmstrange students will be getting back..." Ron said thoughtfully. "D' you reckon they'll be able to steer that ship without Karkaroff?"

"Karkaroff vas not the one that steered," a gruff voice said suddenly from behind us. "He stayed in his cabin while ve did all the vork."

Krum had appeared to bid Hermione farewell. "Could I speak vith you privately?" he asked her.

"Oh...yes...of course," Hermione said, blushing slightly as she followed Krum through the crowd and out of sight.

"Don't you take too long!" Ron called loudly after her. "The carriages'll be here any second!"

Harry and I stood watch for the carriages while Ron spent the next few minutes craning his neck over the crowd to see what Krum and Hermione were up to. They returned quickly enough, but Ron stared quite obviously at Hermione, whose face remained impassive.

"I alvays liked Diggory," Krum said to Harry and I abruptly. "He vos alvays polite to me. Alvays. Even though I vos from Durmstrang - with Karkaroff," he scowled at those words.

"Has a new headmaster been appointed for your school yet?" Harry asked him.

Krum shrugged his shoulders and held out his hand just as Fleur had done. Harry, Ron, and I each shook it in turn. Ron looked to be suffering from some sort of painful internal battle. Krum had already begun walking away when he finally burst. "Can I have your autograph?"

Hermione turned away, grinning as she watched the horseless carriages trundle up the drive toward us. Krum, meanwhile, looked to be both surprised and gratified at the same time, but he still signed the fragment of parchment Ron had produced from his robes.

The weather couldn't have been more different on the journey back to King's Cross than it had been on the journey to Hogwarts the previous September. Not a single cloud was in the sky. On the train, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I managed to get a compartment to ourselves. Ron hid Pigwidgeon under his dress robes again to stop him from hooting constantly and Hedwig and Elon were both snoozing with their heads under their wings. Crookshanks was curled up on the seat between Hermione and I like a large, furry ginger cushion. During the journey south, the four of us were able to talk more fully and freely than we had all week. It felt like Dumbledore's speech at the Leaving Feast had finally unblocked Harry and I, somehow. It wasn't as painful to discuss the events that had occurred that night now. It was the lunch trolley that finally broke our conversation about the actions Dumbledore might be taking now to stop Voldemort.

Hermione and I returned to our seats not too shortly afterward, returning our money back to our schoolbags. Harry, Ron, and I were surprised to see her sit straight again with a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in her hands and I wondered what new story might be in there, no doubt another horrible article by Rita Skeeter. Hermione, however, noticed my stare, and said calmly, "There really isn't anything to worry about, nothing's in here. You two can look yourselves to see, but I promise, there's nothing about either of you. I've been checking the _Daily Prophet_ every day, but there wasn't anything except for a small piece the day after the third task saying you two won the tournament. Cedric wasn't even mentioned, though. I think Fudge might be forcing everyone to keep quiet."

"I'm sure he wouldn't be able to keep Rita quiet," Harry said bitterly. "Not if it's a story like this."

"Well...Rita hasn't really written anything about either of you since before the third task," Hermione said in an oddly restrained voice, as though she was bursting to tell us something she'd been holding in for a long time. There was a slight tremble in her voice we hardly _ever_ heard there before. "As a matter of fact, I don't think Rita Skeeter will be writing anything at all, at least not for a good long while. Not unless she wants me to reveal her little secret."

"What in Merlin's beard are you talking about?" Ron asked, confused.

"Oh, I've found out how she was able to listen in on private conversations when she wasn't allowed on the grounds," Hermione said all in one breath.

The impression that she'd been holding something in since the night of the third task grew and I frowned deeply in thought, wondering what she could want to tell us.

"So, how was she doing it?" I asked her at once.

"And how did you even find out?" Ron asked, staring at her.

"Well, actually, it was Harry that gave me the idea," she said.

"I did?" Harry said, surprised. "How, though?"

"Bugging," Hermione told us happily.

"Wait...I thought you said electronics didn't work -"

"No, no, I'm not talking electronic bugs," Hermione said, her voice trembling with a hidden triumph. "No, you see...Rita Skeeter herself is an unregistered Animagus, so she's able to transform -"

Hermione pulled a small glass jar out of her other bag. It was sealed tightly with a plastic lid.

" - into a beetle!"

"You're kidding!" Ron said. "You don't...she isn't..."

"Oh yes she is," Hermione said estatically, brandishing the jar at us. Inside, we could see a few twigs, leaves, and one large, fat beetle.

"You're joking - this isn't -" Ron whispered as he lifted the jar up to eye level.

"I'm not joking," Hermione said, beaming. "Do you all remember when I made that loud slamming noise in the hopsital wing? That was when I caught Rita on the windowsill. If you look closely, you'll notice the marks around her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears."

I leaned closer to the glass and saw that Hermione was right. Then, something suddenly clicked.

"We saw a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about his mum!" Harry and I said together.

"Exactly," Hermione said. "And do you remember when Viktor pulled a beetle from my hair after we'd talked by the lake. And, unless I'm greatly mistaken, Rita was sitting on the windowsill of the Divination class the day your scars hurt. She's been buzzing all around the school for stories almost all year."

""And when we spotted Malfoy under the tree in the courtyard..." Ron said slowly, an idea dawning on him.

"He had her in his hand and he was talking to her," Hermione said. "He knew what she was doing, of course. That's how she'd been able to get all those nice little interviews with the Slytherins. They could care less that she was doing something illegal, so long as they could give her horrible stuff about us and Hagrid."

Hermione took the glass jar back from Ron and smiled at the beetle, which buzzed angrily at her.

"I've told her I'll release her when we get back to London," Hermione said. "I've placed an Unbreakable Charm on the jar so she can't transform back. And I've told her to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. I want to see if she can't break her habit of writing horrible lies about people."

Smiling happily, Hermione put the beetle back inside her schoolbag just as the compartment door slid open. Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, flanked, as usual, by Crabbe and Goyle. All three looked quite pleased with themselves, more so than we'd ever seen them. Mixed in with that pleasure was arrogance and menace.

"Very clever, Granger," Malfoy said. He advanced slightly into the compartment, looking slowly around at us all, a smirk tweaking at the corners of his lips. "So, you've caught some pathetic reporter and Potter and Power have returned to being Dumbledore's favorites. Big deal."

His smirk widened and behind him, Crabbe and Goyle leered at us.

"Are you trying not to think about it, then?" Malfoy asked softly, looking around at the four of us. "Are you trying to pretend it hasn't actually happened?"

"Get out," Harry grit out.

Neither Harry nor I had been this close to Malfoy since we had watched him murmuring to Crabbe and Goyle during Dumbledore's speech about Cedric. My pulse roared behind my ears. Hermione gripped my arm to keep me on the seat.

"You've picked the losing side, Powter! I warned you! I warned you both! I told you two that you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we saw each other on the train our first day at Hogwarts? I told you both you shouldn't hang out with riffraff like this!" He jerked his head at Ron and Hermione. "But it's a little too late now, isn't it? They'll be the first to die, now that the Dark Lord has returned! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers always go first! Well - second techniqually - Diggory was the fi -"

It was like someone had set off a box of fireworks in the compartment. A blaze of spells flashed through the small space, shooting from every direction and there was a deafening series of bangs. I blinked rapidly and shook my head before looking down at the floor.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all lying unconscious in the doorway now. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were on our feet, all four of us having used a different hex. We weren't the only ones that had done so.

"Thought it was a good idea that we followed these three, see what they were up to," Fred said matter-of-factly as he stepped onto Goyle and into the compartment. His wand was out, as was George's. George was careful to tread on Malfoy as he followed his twin inside.

"That's an interesting effect," George said as he looked down at Crabbe. "Who was the one that used the Furnunculus Curse?"

"That was me," Harry said.

"Hm, odd," George said lightly. "I used Jelly-Legs. It looks like those two spells shouldn't be mixed. It looks like he's sprouted little tentacles all over his face. Well, let's not leave them lying there, they don't really go well with the decor."

Hermione, Fred, and I watched Ron, Harry, and George kick, roll, and push the unconscious Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle out into the corridor. They all looked the worse for the jumble of jinxes they'd been hit with. Then, the three conscious boys came back into the compartment and slid the door shut again.

"Exploding Snap, anyone?" Fred asked as he took a seat next to me, pulling a pack of cards from his pocket.

Halfway through our fifth game, Harry seemed to decide to ask the twins something.

"So, are you going to tell us who it is you've been blackmailing?" he asked George.

"Oh...that..." George said darkly, sighing.

"It really doesn't matter," Fred said as he shook his head impatiently. "It isn't really important...at least not now, anyway..."

"We've given up on it..." George shrugged.

"Please Fred, tell us?" I pleaded, rubbing his arm and giving him my best puppy dog face. Fred looked around at me, taking in my expression and a smirk slithered across his lips. "Well...they're bound to pull it out of us anyway, George..." he said, swinging his gaze around to the other young man, who sighed and nodded. Fred returned his gaze to me, "Well...we were blackmailing Ludo Bagman..."

"Bagman?!" Harry said sharply. "Wait, so are you saying he was involved -"

"No, no," George cut in, waving a hand dismissively. "It's nothing like that. The stupid git doesn't have the brains."

"Well...what was it, then?" Ron asked.

"Well, do you all remember when we bet him at the Quidditch World Cup that Ireland would win, but Krum would catch the Snitch?" Fred said after a moment of hesitation.

"Yeah..." Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I all said together.

"Well the stupid git paid us in leprechaun gold he'd gotten from the Irish mascots."

"So...?"

"So," Fred continued impatiently, "it vanished by the next morning! It was gone!"

"But...it couldn't been on purpose, right?" Hermione said, causing George to laugh bitterly.

"Yeah, that's what we though too, at least at first. We thought if we wrote to him and told him about it, he'd pay us what he owed. But he ignored our letter. At Hogwarts, whenever we tried talking to him, he always made some kind of excuse to get away from us."

"In the end, he actually turned pretty nasty," Fred said, grimacing. "He told us we were too young to gamble and that he wasn't going to give us anything."

"So we simply asked for the money we bet back," George glowered angrily.

"Don't tell me he refused..." Hermione said with a gasp.

"Right on one," Fred said.

"But that was your entire savings!" Ron said.

"Tell me about it," George said. " 'Course, we found out what was really going on in the end. Lee Jordan's dad had had some trouble getting money off Bagman as well. It turns out that he's having a lot of trouble with goblins. He borrowed loads of gold off them and a gang of them cornered him in the woods after the World Cup to get the gold back. They took all the gold he had, but it still wasn't enough to cover what he'd taken from them. They followed him all the way to Hogwarts in order to keep an eye on him so he wouldn't get away. He lost everything he had gambling. The man hasn't got two Galleons to rub together. And do you want to know how he tried paying the goblins back?"

"How?" Harry and I asked together.

"He bet on you two," Fred said. "Placed a huge bet on the two of you to win the tournament. He bet it against the goblins."

"No wonder he kept trying to help us win!" Harry said, snapping his fingers. "But...Chey and I did win, didn't we? So he should be able to pay you back!"

"Eh, not really true," George said, shaking his head and frowning deeply. "The goblins played as dirty as he did. They knew you two had drawn with Diggory, and Bagman bet you'd both win outright. So Bagman had to make a run for it. He ran off right after the third task."

George sighed and started dealing out the cards once more.

The rest of our journey passed pleasantly enough, but I still wished it could have lasted all summer...in fact, I wished we would never reach King's Cross. Time was a cruel mistress, however, that slowed for no man or woman, especially when it knows there's something we're not really looking forward to. All too soon, the Hogwarts Express was pulling in at platform nine and three-quarters. The usual confusion and chatter filled the corridors as everyone began to disembark. Ron and Hermione struggled out past Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, carrying their trunks. Harry and I, however, stayed behind.

"Hey, sweetie, wait a moment," I said softly, catching Fred's arm and pulling him back into the compartment as Harry called George back as well. The twins paused by the door as Harry opened his trunk and pulled out our Triwizard winnings.

"Here, we want you two to take this," he said, thrusting the sack of gold into George's hands.

"What?!" Fred said, taken completely by surprise.

"Please, we want you to take it," I told them gently. "Neither Harry nor I really want it..."

"You two are mental," George said, trying to push it back at Harry.

"No, we're not," Harry said firmly. "Please take it and start reinventing. It's meant for the joke shop."

"You both really are mental," Fred said, staring adoringly at me.

"Look," I said in a stern voice. "If you two don't take it, Harry and I are throwing it down the drain. Neither of us want it nor do either of us need it. We could really do with a few laughs, we all could. I have a feeling we'll need them more than anything before too long."

"Harry...Chey..." George said weakly, weighing the money bag in his hand, "there has to be a thousand Galleons in here."

"Yeah, there are..." Harry said, grinning at them. "Just think how many Canary Creams you can make with that."

The twins stared at the two of us.

"Just don't tell your mum where it came from...although she probably isn't as keen as she once was for you to join the Ministry anymore..." I said.

"Harry, Chey..." Fred began to protest once more, but Harry pulled out his wand.

"Listen," he said flatly, point-blank, "just take it, or I'll hex you both. I know some good ones now. Just do us a favor, all right? Buy Ron a set of new dress robes and tell him they're from you."

We left the compartment before either twin could say another word, stepping carefully over Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who still lay unconscious on the floor, covered in hex marks.

Uncle Vernon waited beyond the barrier for us, Mrs. Weasley standing close by. She hugged Harry and I tightly when she saw us and whispered to the two of us, "I think Dumbledore will let you two come to us later in the summer. Just remember to keep in touch, Harry, Cheyenne."

"See you, Harry, Chey," Ron said, clapping Harry's shoulder.

"Bye, Harry, Chey!" Hermione said, reaching up and pecking him on the cheek, something I hadn't ever seen her do before. She gave me a quick hug and backed away again.

"Hey, Chey -" Fred pulled me away from the group for a moment to talk, "Thanks for the gold, we really appreciate it." he said, smiling. I smiled back at him and we hugged, sharing a quick kiss before I returned to Harry and Uncle Vernon, who looked absolutely livid. Harry and I followed him wordlessly from the station, leaving each other alone with our thoughts.

_There really isn't anything to worry about yet..._ I told myself, climbing into the back of the Dursleys car with Harry.

Just as Hagrid said, what would come, would come...and (my hand slid over Harry's and gave it a gentle squeeze. He turned his hand over and squeezed mine back) we would both just have to meet it when it did.


	38. Important Note

**AN~**

**All right everyone, now the fourth book of my version of the Harry Potter series is finished. I know things have been rough the last couple weeks, but I'd like to thank those that have stayed with the story even despite that. In light of what has happened, I will be doing my best to change how things are in the story and adding more of my own writing in so it isn't boring. I apologize if it is to anyone and I hope you will all continue following my stories as you have been. I don't make many author's notes, but i wanted to make this one to show my gratitude to my readers and inform them that the posting of the next book will be post-poned for a while since I'll be writing a couple of other fanfictions I will be adding to this site soon. I promise I still will post the next book soon and I hope all my followers will stay with it. Thank you all again, I'm really grateful to you all.**

**From, KibaLover2211**


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